A Lightning's Tale
by Riddle Master 101
Summary: Harry Potter is abruptly thrown into a different world upon receiving his letter from Hogwarts. Danger stalks him at every turn, light and dark are locked in a constant, eternal battle, and weaving it all together is this substance called magic...
1. And so it Begins

Chapter 1

It was as ordinary of a Tuesday morning in late July as one could get: the birds were up far too early, as was the sun; the grass was still wet with dew; children were jumping out of bed, heralding the coming of day, while teenagers burrowed deeper into a pile of blankets and pillows in denial (of the breaking day and of waking up); the control of the world shifted from the nocturnal to the diurnal; and ten-year-old Harry Potter was sharply jolted from a dream by the screeching voice of his aunt.

"Get up Boy!" He sighed, blinking blearily at the underside of the stairs before reaching for his glasses and stretching.

"Up, up, UP!" his aunt screeched again, rapping on the door to his cupboard.

"Coming Aunt Petunia," he stated, still blinking the last wisps of sleep away, giving his head a sharp shake to clear it. This, of course, only caused his annoyingly long hair to slide into his eyes and he wasted a precious moment glaring at it, before making a scramble to get dressed. Having accomplished this, he grabbed his comb and yanked it through his hair, being careful to avoid the walnut sized bump on the back of his head, courtesy of his cousin's gang. He tied his hair back into a loose ponytail and exited his cupboard, stretching up on his toes with his arms towards the ceiling…until his aunt nastily poked him in the ribs from behind.

"Why are you dawdling?" she hissed at him as he flinched away, "It already well past six and you haven't even started breakfast yet! Now get moving!"

Harry moved towards the kitchen, resisting the urge to rub his side or roll his eyes, and therefore break the survival rules.

_Show no weakness_

_ Rudeness leads to pain_

He moved around the kitchen with ease which showed long experience; taking the bacon and eggs out of the refrigerator, putting toast in the toaster, setting the table, starting tea, and a hundred other mundane tasks that were associated with getting breakfast on the table for the Dursleys. He yawned, although making sure to do it out of his aunt's sight.

_Show no exhaustion_

It wasn't as if he was particularly annoyed at being woken up so very early in the morning, and he didn't even mind being jolted out of his dream, as it hadn't been at all pleasant, but there were some mornings where he wished he'd get treated like Dudley and be allowed to sleep in, eat as much as he wanted for breakfast, or at the very least, be looked upon with some expression other than disgust.

_Even a haircut would be nice_, he though in dry annoyance as a long lock of his hair, which he had painstakingly tucked behind his ear, fell across his forehead and into his eyes. His aunt had given up on haircuts after a particularly bad one which had grown back overnight. She'd informed him (before locking him in his cupboard for days) that there was no point in wasting time or money on cutting his hair if it wouldn't stay that way. Since then, it had only grown longer.

_Don't hope for anything, it's a set up to being hurt_

He sighed again, absentmindedly flipping the bacon, and wondering if he would be allowed to eat any of this breakfast before holding back a snort of laughter. _Right, because _that's_ going to happen_, he though sarcastically, quickly turning his full attention back to the food as his uncle's heavy steps pounded down the stairs. It would not be good to get into trouble _already_ this morning.

Half an hour later, the Dursleys were sitting around the table eating bacon, eggs, and toast while Harry sat on the kitchen floor eating cold oatmeal. Not that it was that bad, on the contrary, it was the best breakfast he'd had in a while, but that didn't make it taste any better.

"Get the mail, Dudley," Uncle Vernon grumbled around a mouthful of egg.

"Make Harry get it," Dudley whined back.

"Get the mail, Boy!"

Harry set his food aside and rolled his eyes. _Make Dudley get it,_ he thought acidly, knowing far better than to say this out loud, though he desperately wanted to; he didn't have a death wish, after all. He scooped the mail off the floor, pausing for a moment in the entry hall at the unfamiliar appearance of one of the letters. He pulled it out and glanced at it, almost dropping the envelope a moment later upon reading the address.

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

_What in the world…_Harry stared at the letter in shock. No one wrote him, and even if they had, it wouldn't be addressed this way.

"Boy! The mail, NOW!"

"C-coming Uncle Vernon," he replied quickly, hoping to God they didn't notice his slight stutter. He walked back to the table, hurriedly stuffing the letter into his pocket to examine at some later point when he was locked safely back in his cupboard. There was no way he was going to show even a corner of it to the Dursleys.

_Don't show attachment to things: you'll just lose them faster_

:~:

Though the letter burned a hole in his pocket throughout the rest of the day, Harry refrained from touching it—even once. Instead, he followed the list of chores (washing dishes, doing and folding the laundry, mowing the lawn, cleaning the gutters, weeding) as well as multiple other ones which occurred on the spot (buying the groceries and putting them away, making a snack for Dudley, wiping up the mud Dudley tracked in). After making dinner, eating early (before Uncle Vernon got home), and taking a very quick shower, his aunt locked him back in his cupboard, where he remain, silent as the grave, as he listened to the family eating and discussing the day's labors.

His uncle seemed to be in a particularly bad mood, and Harry remained perfectly still until the family had retired to the living room to watch the telly, the sound blaring through the house and blocking any noise he might make. He sighed in relief, another potential beating having been successfully avoided.

Very, very carefully, he pulled the letter out of his pocked and used one of the matches from the box with the cleaning supplies to light his stub of a candle he'd stolen from the cabinet the other day. In the flickering light, he examined the letter again, noting the thick paper, the calligraphy style writing in green ink, and the seal pressed into the wax on the back. After a couple more minutes of contemplation, mainly wondering who would have sent him such an old fashioned letter, he slit the seal open with the pocket knife he'd snitched from Dudley's collection last year and slowly drew out the many papers inside.

Hogwarts School

of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

_**Minerva McGonagall**_

Minerva McGonagall,

_Deputy Headmistress_

His first thought, upon completing the letter, was: _well that explains a lot_; and it did. The idea of magic, or at least _wizardry_ explained very neatly various incidents over the past decade, all of which he had been severely punished for and entirely unable to understand: the miraculous re-growth of hair, the ability to get onto the school roof by simply jumping, that incident with the snake on Dudley's birthday, etc.

In fact, it explained everything too neatly, and Harry scowled at the letter before examining the other piece of parchment, which turned out to be the enclosed list of supplies. He sighed. _Even if it is true_, unlikely_, but even if it is, where in London am I going to get _any_ of this stuff?_ He thought with disgust turning back to the original letter, _And what could they possibly mean by 'we await you owl'?_

After contemplating the letter for a few more minutes (as well as the envelope), he decided that mail must travel by some other form than the post office, mainly due to the fact that the envelope possessed no stamp. And perhaps they used owls to cart these letters, similar to how they used to use messenger pigeons in ancient history. Yes, that was it, although why they chose owls was beyond him.

Furthermore, this led to the problem of how was he going to get an owl, when clearly there were none in the general vicinity, and even if he did, how was the owl to know where to go, as there was no return address. He sighed, rolling his eyes at the lack of information the letter contained. _It's probably just a practical joke played by Dudley, although it seems to have more thought and time into it than he'd care to put, _he thought grumpily to himself. Still, in the slight chance the letter was genuine, he decided it would be best to have a reply ready in case he did find some way to deliver it. With that thought in mind, he set about composing his own letter.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was not having the best of days. The annual pre-school-curriculum-staff-meeting had deteriorated into a general round of insults and moaning over how much the students had inevitably forgotten; his attempts to restore order had been met with cold glares; two of the castle ghosts had been missing for the last month and no on knew where they were; the Sorting Hat was complaining about its position on the shelf and demanding a higher place of honor; and no one had accepted a lemon drop from him in _weeks_. While this situation would have broken an ordinary wizard, Albus Dumbledore was anything but ordinary, and as such, was only mildly depressed.

"Now Minerva," he scolded the transfiguration teacher, "You know as well as I do that divination is an important subject and you shouldn't criticize Sybill so." He regarded her reproachfully as she completely ignored him and continued to rant at the divination teacher about 'prophecy this', and 'seeing the future that', and 'oh, this is just utter nonsense!'

Dumbledore sighed before sending an annoyed glare at the ancient runes and arithmancy teachers, who were snickering quietly, while his potions master looked on, terribly amused. "Leonardo, Sydney, Severus, really," he admonished, before being abruptly cut off as an owl swooped in from one of the high, arching, open windows, dropped a letter on his desk (missing his head by mere inches), and flew out again, presumably headed for the owlery.

Silence descended for one blessed moment as the Headmaster calmly picked up the letter and read its contents, eyebrows rising and eyes beginning to twinkle suspiciously. Upon finishing, he surveyed the room over his spectacles and the top of the letter; a faint smile twitched at the corners of his mouth as he realized everyone was regarding him in quiet anticipation (finally). Never one to turn down such an obliging audience, he returned his gaze to the top of the letter and read it aloud:

"_To Whomever it may concern, _

_I have received a letter claiming that I have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Having been up to this point completely unaware that magic in fact existed, I must say that I'm a tad bit skeptical as to this claim (no offence intended) and I would greatly appreciate a complete explanation of this bizarre idea as well as answers to multiple questions including, but not limited to: where I can obtain the list of supplies, how these letters are addressed (do you actually stalk people down to that level or is it some sort of device that does it), are there any other 'wizarding' schools in Britain and is there any way to contact your competitors or have I already been eliminated from their supposed lists by receiving this letter, and finally, if magic does truly exist (and I'm still not ruling out the idea that this is all a practical joke until someone shows up and gives me a thorough demonstration), then why have I never heard of it before. Even if this is a supposed 'secret', surely there must be some issues keeping it from 'non magic people'. I would appreciate any information you have to offer on the subject of this so called 'magic', and I will reply to you original question of whether or not I shall be attending this school of yours based on the information I receive. _

_Thank you for your time and effort,_

_ Harry Potter_

_P.S: Owls? _Owls? _I must admit that while they appear to be a step up from pigeons, I'm at a complete loss as to why there are still used to transport mail. This is the 20__th__ century you know."_

The Headmaster's voice ceased, leaving the room in complete, disbelieving silence. Dumbledore fought to keep the smile that was twitching at his lips down. Up unto the revealing of the letter writer, his potions master had been looking positively amused; only to have a particularly icy bucket of water dumped on him, if one was to judge by the scowl on his face. Minerva was staring at him in stunned bewilderment; Filius was looking absolutely astounded; and Leo and Sydney were exchanging gleeful smirks, no doubt amused with not only the vocabulary, but also the sheer audacity of some of the questions.

"Clearly, we have a problem," Albus stated calmly, his eyes twinkling like stars, as he lost control of the small smile.

"A Problem!" Rolanda Hooch exclaimed, "A PROBLEM! Albus, the Boy-Who-Lived doubts the very existence of magic, let alone the wizarding world, and you think we have a little problem!"

"I quite agree," Leonardo threw in unhelpfully, "That comment on stalking is a big issue. It wouldn't do to have our savior convinced that the wizarding world knows where he sleeps. Honestly, I never thought about it before, but that letter addressing is down right creepy and threatening," he said contemplatively, as everyone turned to stare at him, "I mean, we're practically telling all of the children 'we know where you sleep', not to mention their paranoid parents, what with all the child molesters and kidnappers these days. It's really a wonder that more muggleborns parents haven't called the police on us…"  
"Is _that_ all you can think about?" Minerva snapped, outraged.

"Now, now, calm down everyone; this problem can probably be easily solved—" Pomona began.

"Oh I don't know; do we have any other way to address the letters? Maybe we can make the charm a little less personal, what do you think?" Leonardo turned to Filius, who actually seemed to contemplate this question for all of three seconds before Rolanda broke in again,

"LEO! That's not what she meant and you know it!"

"Of course," he smirked at her, "But it's just so fun to get you riled up." The Quidditch coach looked positively incensed and reached for her wand; fortunately, Dumbledore, who had been sitting contemplatively through this exchange, finally spoke up,

"I agree with Pomona," he said quietly, although it had the effect of silencing the entire room. Sometimes it was worth while to be the most powerful wizard of the age. "This problem is easily solved, I'll simply send Hagrid to pick up the boy, take him to Diagon Alley, and give him his ticket. No problem whatsoever!" He beamed at the stunned faces staring at him.

"Hagrid?" Minerva asked after a moment, "Albus, don't you think, due to the boy's disbelief in magic, that we should send someone who has the ability to actually cast spells? Not to mention someone a little more…" she trailed off

"…Gentle, tactful, and a better caretaker for an eleven-year-old," Poppy stated simply. Most of the others nodded in agreement.

"Ahh, but that's just the thing!" Dumbledore exclaimed delightedly, "You see the sight of a giant aught to convince him that the magic world does exist, and it will quickly become apparent to him that Hagrid is as open as they come. So he is simply the best choice to send."

Seeing that they were all still staring at him blankly, as well as preparing arguments as to why this might be a bad idea, he quickly changed the subject. "Now, while I pen a quick reply telling Harry to await Hagrid's arrival, why don't all of you decide how we are going to find the Gryffindor and Slytherin ghosts before the year begins. It would be a major problem if the students arrive and the house ghosts are not here."

"Why don't we just ask the Sorting Hat?" queried Severus, entering the conversation for the first time, "After all," he continued, sneering, "Does it not know where all the ghosts are at all times?"

"Unfortunately, the Sorting Hat is not cooperating right now," the Headmaster said with a sigh, accompanied with a reproachful glance at said Hat sitting on the shelf.

"Nope, not tellin'," the Hat shouted, "Not until you agree to give me more respect around here. And besides, I have a song to compose, and since all of you are critics who don't appreciate good lyrics, I've got to spend more time on it this year!"

"Look," Sydney rolled his eyes, "I just said that it would be nice for once if the Sorting Song actually rhymed. The firsties are too terrified to notice, but all the rest of us go insane listening to one horrid rhyme after another—"

"One horrid rhyme after another, I'll give you one horrid rhyme after another! My rhymes are never horrid, you idiot! How dare—" the rest of its rant was abruptly cut off as Minerva got fed up and flicked a silencing spell in his direction. The Headmaster grinned at her and began to compose his reply as the heads of houses, not to mention the rest of the staff, began to discuss how, exactly, they would find the wayward ghosts.

* * *

Harry Potter had to admit (to himself at least) that he was beginning to believe in this strange world that had been presented to him. Despite the skeptical tone of his letter, he was actually fairly convinced that magic existed, not in the least because the next day he'd noticed an owl perched in the tree outside—an owl that was apparently waiting for his reply, as it flew down to the fence he was repainting and proffered a foot. It had taken a moment for him to figure out what the owl wanted, but soon enough, the bird was skyward bound again, his letter grasped in its claws. He'd made the vast mistake of watching it fly off, as his Uncle had noticed his lack of work and given him a sound beating for it, before returning him to his job.

S_how no idleness_

He'd spent the rest of the day contemplating every single "freakish" thing he'd ever done, as his relatives called it, and trying to find some connecting factor between the events aside from his lack of understanding. He must have appeared to be daydreaming, for after he'd finished the fence, weeded, and mowed the lawn, he'd been called inside and given a loud lecture from his aunt on "concentrating on his tasks and not staring off into space like an idiot". His uncle had entered in the middle of the rant and thus he earned himself yet another beating and orders to clean the house from top to bottom, before dark, or there'd be Hell to pay.

As it had already been three o'clock in the afternoon when he started, he had no chance of completing this task in the amounted time, and after a _very_ physical lecture on laziness, he'd been thrown into his cupboard with no food and the promise that he'd be in there for all of tomorrow. _Oh joy_, he though in annoyance, as the door was slammed closed and the distinct sound of a lock clicking filled the still, hot air.

He lay back on the thin mattress that passed for a bed and prayed to every God of every religion he was aware of that the Dursleys wouldn't intercept the reply to his letter…if there was a reply at all. He was furious with himself for breaking one of his survival rules, and every time he caught himself thinking wistfully about magic, he'd cruelly remind himself of reality, especially if any of his relatives got a hold of any letter coming from that place. Yes, he'd probably be unable to walk away from that beating, and would undoubtedly starve to death after being locked in his cupboard for a month.

_Don't hope, don't dream, and don't believe in a better world, it doesn't exist_

:~:

The next morning, Harry was rudely jolted from a strange dream not by the screeching of his aunt, but the unpleasant squealing joy of his cousin. _ Uhoh, what's going on now?_ He though with a wince, dressing himself in the rare chance that he'd be let out of his cupboard, although he wasn't looking forward to the venture. Dudley happy was never a good sign, and Harry would undoubtedly prefer the dark, safe confines of his shelter than whatever was going on out there. The choice was snatched from him as his cupboard door was unlocked and his aunt snarled down at him.

"Get moving, you're making breakfast and then Vernon has an announcement to make. No dawdling, now." Harry sighed once before leaving the quiet darkness of his cupboard and joining the rest of the world. He set the table as fast as he could, hurriedly made bacon and eggs (again, as for some reason his cousin wanted them), and slid into the most unnoticed corner of the dining room when his aunt poked him in that direction. His uncle entered a moment later.

"Now, everyone," he began in a low rumble, noticeably excluding Harry in this statement, "I've got some very good news." He grinned at the delighted responses of his wife and son. _No duh_, Harry thought, _Aunt Petunia already mentioned this, just get to the point already_. "I've received a promotion at work," cheers from the Dursleys, to Harry's disgust, "and as a present, my boss is sending us on a trip to the coast for three days." More cheers. _What the HELL!_ Harry thought, _Somehow I doubt I'm going to be included in this..._ While Dudley continued to dance around, Aunt Petunia suddenly looked worried.

"What are we going to do with him?" she asked suspiciously, jerking her head at Harry, "He's not coming with us, is he?"

"Of course not!" Uncle Vernon sounded affronted, "We'll just leave him with someone."

"Who?" Aunt Petunia asked, "Mrs. Figg can't take him, she's away on a break, neither can any of the other neighbors, and Marge…"

"Is going with us," Uncle Vernon finished, turning and glaring at Harry as if this was all his fault. Harry quickly fixed his gaze on a spot on the ground, praying for a miracle.

"How about we leave him here?" Dudley suggested suddenly. His parents jumped, having not realized he was listening to the conversation.

"Leave him _here_, by _himself_?" Aunt Petunia asked, horrified.

"Sure, why not?" Dudley continued, shrugging, "It's not like he will blow up the house or anythin', where'd he stay, and you could probably assign him a big list of chores to keep him busy while we're gone." He turned back to his food, leaving his parents staring at him in shock, before regarding each other contemplatively and turning back to Harry, who had yet to take his eyes off the floor.

"Well, why not?" Aunt Petunia wondered after a moment, "Dudleykins is right, it's not like he would blow up the house as he'd have no where else to go."

"Hmm," Uncle Vernon glared at Harry for a minute before replying, "Very well," he began his lecture mode, "Now Boy, no destroying things, no letting strangers in, and no freakish business, you hear?" He snarled, "I've got plenty to do without cleaning up after an ungrateful freak like yourself, and you will do all those chores assigned, or I'll whip you so bad you won't be able to walk for a month." He glared at Harry suspiciously.

"Yes Uncle Vernon," Harry said flatly, his eyes remaining fixed on the floor, not even twitching when his uncle seized his chin in a strong grip and stared into his eyes, before landing a punch on his cheek that bent his glasses.

"I though so." His uncle turned away and returned to his breakfast, "Now don't you have work to be doing?" He growled. Harry didn't need to be told twice and he rose, cautiously walking around the table and into the hall, only stopping to take off his glasses and attempt to fix them once he was out of sight.

_Show no defiance_

_ Show no power_

_ Show no weakness_

He headed towards the kitchen, hearing Dudley excuse himself from the table and leave the dining room. His cousin tapped him lightly on the shoulder as he passed him, giving a jerking nod in the direction of the upstairs bedroom when Harry glanced his way, before continuing up the stairs. Harry quickly entered the kitchen and put away the remaining food before checking to see if the coast was clear and following Dudley up.

"Thanks," he commented quietly from his cousin's doorway, eyeing the messy room idly.

"No problem," Dudley stated uncomfortably from his spot on his swivel chair in front of his computer.

"Out of raw curiosity, why are you being so nice to me, now?" Harry asked, keeping his voice flat. His cousin looked up from the loading screen and glanced quickly past Harry down the hall to where the clear sounds of two people still eating echoed up from the dining room.

"Ms. Harrison was wondering about you," he stated as a way of explanation. At Harry's blink, he elaborated, "She pulled me aside and asked if you were sick or somethin'. She tried talking to you a couple of times, but you always managed to avoid her, so she said she had to ask me," he glanced at Harry guiltily, "She wanted to know why you were so thin and always had bruises, and that she'd caught you working your way through the algebra textbook, and that's a couple years ahead of us, and she'd looked over you shoulder and saw your work, and it was all correct, but you failed the math test that day. She wanted to know if you were doing it deliberately for some reason." Another guilty glance to where Harry was standing stock still in the door, "Don't worry, I didn't tell her anythin' and I got away as soon as I could. I knew Dad would beat you to pieces if those social people came by again."

"Dudley," Harry asked slowly, "What does this have to do with suggesting to your parents that I stay here alone and being nice to me?"

"Miss Harrison was really nice," Dudley continued, ignoring the interruption, "One of the nicest teachers we've ever had. And she was worried about you. No one's ever been worried about you before, except that one kindergarten teacher, remember, the one who got the social people to come around. I don't know," he said, turning to look at Harry again, "But I just thought, you shouldn't have to stay with some crabby lady for a week."

"Four day," Harry corrected unconsciously.

"Whatever. Point is, you won't blow up the house, so why shouldn't you? Now leave," he shot another glance at Harry, and added suddenly, "Please." Harry numbly walked away from the door and back down the stairs, in time to receive the dishes and a list of chores for the day, the promise of being locked in his cupboard apparently forgotten. As he wandered around the house, packing up things for his relatives trip (starting the next day), he felt that tiny flutter of hope blossom in his chest again, the hope that there really was magic. He ruthlessly squashed it. There was no point in ruining his peaceful time by himself by worrying over something he'd stopped believing in a long time ago.

:~:

The Dursleys left early the next morning, the packed car rolling out of the driveway and down the block. Harry watched until they were out of sight, not capable of believing that they were really leaving him home alone for four days. He spent the next ten minutes sitting numbly on the couch in shock, feeling as if he'd been thrown into one of those alternate universes he'd read about in books.

It took the sound of the mail swishing through the slot to jerk him out of his stupor and he slowly got up and walked to the door, fighting ruthlessly with himself and making a vain attempt to crush his hope that a reply had come. He gathered up the envelopes and walked slowly towards the dining room, shifting through them as quickly as he was able. To his surprise and everlasting delight, there was another envelope of old parchment, addressed to him in green inked calligraphy.

Mr. H. Potter

4 Privet Drive

Little Whining,

Surrey

He had to sit down and he stared at the letter, his fingers shaking as they traced the green ink words. _It's real_, he thought in hysterical disbelief, _It's completely, utterly, real._ He took a moment to compose himself and make sure he wouldn't burst out into mad laughter, especially after noticing the change in the address from the original one; and then, with shaking hands, he broke the seal and pulled the letter out.

Dear Mr. Potter,

I must say, I was absolutely delighted to hear from you. We are completely sorry that we overlooked the fact that you were living with muggles (non magic people), as all our letters to muggleborns are delivered by hand to avoid confusion such as this. To help ratify this situation, I'm sending a member of the staff from Hogwarts to help you obtain your supplies and explain the magic world to you. He will arrive early in the morning on July 28th, so be expecting him. Again, apologies for any confusion the original letter caused.

Sincerely,

_**Albus Dumbledore**_

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster

Harry, upon finishing the letter for the third time, silently thanked all the higher deities everywhere for the Dursley's unexpected vacation and his being left at home. He had _no_ idea how his relatives would react to the announcement that he was attending a school of the forbidden M word, but he could come up with dozens of likely scenarios, all of which ended with him dying before September started. No, it would be better for the Dursleys to remain blissfully ignorant until it was too late for them to change anything.

After reading the letter again and feeling a warm, golden glow settle in his chest, he placed it in his cupboard (with the other one) and began on the impossibly long list of chores left for him by his relatives. If he was going to spend the next day 'wizard shopping' (as he'd termed it), then he'd have to get at least have the list done before he went to bed.

:~:

Harry jerked out of his nightmare, breathing as if he'd run for miles and slick with sweat. He lay gasping in his stifling cupboard for a moment before rising and sneaking out into the kitchen, part of his mind marveling at the fact that the door was unlocked. He sat on the floor for a while; sipping a cold glass of water and watching the world begin to lighten as the sun rose. _Four AM_, he thought groggily to himself, _why in the world did I have to wake up so early?_

After another few moments of stillness, he rose and headed back to his cupboard to get dressed; a sudden excitement filling him as he remembered that someone from that school was coming later in the morning. With this thought in mind, he picked out his best set of hand-me-downs, the least raggedy ones which fit better than most; the ones he wore to school on the first day, to make the impression that he was not neglected (as that would only lead to awkward questions and problems with Uncle Vernon). He headed upstairs to take a very quick shower, wincing at the soreness in—well—all of his muscles.

One freezing shower later (there was no way he was going to use the hot water and potentially get into trouble when his relatives got home), he dressed himself and eyed his appearance critically in the mirror. A gaunt, too pale face with large, bright green eyes (framed with glasses held together with scotch tape) and a livid bruise on the cheek stared back; long, tangled, dark mahogany hair with red highlights fell to his shoulders (_yes, way too long, need to get a haircut_); baggy clothes hid the bruises and welts on his back, as well as his unnatural skinniness. _Well, overall, I'd say that's not too bad_, he noted critically, _Now, to do something about that bruise and I'll be good to go_.

He grabbed a comb and began to yank it through his long locks, attempting to get the snarled mess to lie strait. The only good thing about having his hair this long was that it didn't hang all over the place anymore (a style that was the reason for his many haircuts prior to the disaster). After sleeking his hair down as much as possible and leaving it loose (it would hide the bruise on his neck), he gazed at the livid purple mark on his cheek. There was no way he was meeting a stranger with that mark on his face, as it would undoubtedly start up a round of awkward questions.

"Magic's real," he murmured to himself, "Magic's real, and so there must be some way to hide this without makeup. What if…" he stared at the bruise, remembering something he'd read in a fantasy book. His teachers had always complained that he had to vivid of an imagination, but just this once it might help.

Screwing his eyes tightly shut, he forced all his concentration onto the image he'd just seen in the mirror, imagining the bruise slowly shrinking from the outside inward, shrinking into the rest of his skin, millimeter by millimeter, fading through the colors, from livid purple to green and brown to yellow to normal, vanishing slowly yet steadily, vanishing across the contours of his cheek, vanishing until…he opened his eyes and blinked in numb shock.

The vivid purple was gone, and only the faintest yellow discoloration hinted that the bruise had even been there. Harry reached up a trembling hand and pressed his fingers to his cheek; it still hurt like the full blown mark, but there was almost no sign at all of its presence. A shaking grin slowly worked his way across his face. He'd done his very first piece of deliberate magic and it had _worked_.

An hour and a half later found him waiting in the living room, school supply list in hand, awaiting the arrival of his chauffeur, as he'd decided to call the person who would pick him up. Not to his face, of course. That broke a number of the survival rules.

_Don't be an idiot_

_ Being respectful never made it hurt worse_

_ Teachers can be as nasty as relatives, so be careful_

Truth to be told, he was more than a little nervous. He never liked meeting new people, as he really didn't know how to interact with them aside from being distant and polite. Adults always seemed to look at him oddly and children avoided him (mainly due to the reputation of his cousin's gang), and his uncle had explained that this was because they could tell he was a freak. He didn't exactly believe this, but no other explanation had presented itself so far, and so he accepted it as reality. It hadn't made him like people any better.

_Knock! Knock!_

A booming sound on the door jolted him from his thoughts and he slowly rose and made his way towards the noise. Cautiously, he undid the lock and opened the door, peering out at the…_person_ who stood there, feeling as though his eyes would roll out of his head. His chauffeur was huge, giant-like, with a long leather coat on and an enormous, bushy, black beard covering his face, and a pink umbrella on his arm. Harry stared up at him in bewilderment.

"Hullo, Harry!", giant-person boomed, "So nice t'see yeh after all these years. Are yeh ready t'go an' get yer things?"

"Y-yes, sir," Harry stuttered, more than a little overwhelmed and trying in vain to remember if he'd _ever_ seen this person before.

"Well, then, c'mon," giant-person gestured, turning and starting to walk down the driveway. Harry closed the door behind him and hurried to keep up.

"Um, sir," he began as politely as he could, flinching when the man turned towards him, "I'm sorry for asking, but what is your name?" he cringed.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry; forgettin' t'introduce myself an' all," giant-person didn't look annoyed (to Harry's relief), "My name's Hagrid, Keeper o' the Keys an' grounds at Hogwarts." He extended his hand and Harry shook it gingerly. Then, giant-person—no, _Hagrid—_continued to walk down the sidewalk with Harry scurrying behind, attempting to keep up.

At the end of the block, Hagrid looked right, and then left, for all appearances checking to see if anyone was watching. When it became apparent that no one was in sight, he took his pink umbrella from the crook of his arm and brought it in a downward slash in the air in front of him. Harry dearly wanted to ask what in the world he was doing, but decided it was better to keep his mouth shut. And a second later, there was a terrific _BANG_ and an enormous, triple-decker, violet bus appeared out of nowhere. It took all of Harry's willpower to not fall over in shock.

"'Allo, 'Agrid!" a voice called out as the doors opened, "An' where will you be goin' t'day?"

"Leaky Cauldron, Stan. I've got a job t'be doin'." He stated, putting his hand on Harry's shoulder, who shank but managed to avoid flinching.

"Right, oh, well get on! We ain't got all day, ye'know."

"C'mon, Harry," Hagrid said, prompting him to go into the bus first, "This is the Knight Bus, an' we've got a'ways t'go!" Harry climbed the steps, feeling more than a bit surreal and froze again upon seeing that, instead of normal seats, this bus had armchairs. He blinked, and moved forward, selecting one at Hagrid's prompting. Questions were whipping through his head at light speed, yet he dared not voice any of them.

_Show no ignorance_

"Now Harry," Hagrid said, settling into the chair next to him, "Yeh jus' have'ta brace yerself an' yeh'll be fine." Harry watched, somewhat incredulous, as Hagrid then pulled a canary yellow thing out of a pocked and proceeded to revel that it was a partially knitted blanket, which he continued to knit. A jolt from the bus—which almost threw Harry across the isle and he only just in time stopped his head from slamming into the glass—and the bus was moving again. Shaking his head and settling down, as much as possible when clinging to an armchair for dear life, he attempted to process the last five minutes of his morning and plan the upcoming day.

After wasting precious moments trying to determine exactly how the bus was moving, as they seemed to be jumping not only all over the street, but also from location to location (not to mention time zones), Harry turned his thoughts inward and began the process of readying himself for upcoming shocks. The bus slammed to a halt, almost throwing him again. He tightened his grip and resolved to ignore most of what was unexplainable around him.

Easier said than done, what with the one guy (_did Hagrid say his name was Stan?_) shouting the stops in apparently alphabetical order (they were currently on C's), the bus jolting in and out of places, and weird people getting off and coming on.

_Right_, he lectured himself, _You can't just keep showing shock like this, have to learn how to hide it better. Just because you've never seen this world before is no reason to gawk at it, and besides: staring is rude and rude is pain, so be careful!_ He glanced uneasily at Hagrid as he thought this.

It wasn't that he didn't like the man; Hagrid had been nothing but nice to him since picking him up that morning. Harry just didn't like big people, they reminded him too much of Uncle Vernon and some of the older members of Dudley's gang: basically, people who beat him to pulp on a regular basis. He was very positive Hagrid had not picked up on this unease, yet he strove to shove it further down and hide it better.

_Same goes for shock, no more of this 'desperate, need to sit down' stuff, you hear? Just shove it down and blink, if you have to express it at all. And keep your hair in your face. Yes, it's rude, but the less people who see your face, the less likely they'll be to remember it later!_ He ordered himself, firmly. _You can let all the shock and excitement out when you're safe in your cupboard later, not now, out in the open, where anyone can see you_.

He jerked sharply when Hagrid clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"C'mon, Harry, this is our stop. See yeh later, Stan!" he called over his shoulder as they exited the bus. "Welcome ter the Leaky Cauldron, Harry," Hagrid said, steering him into the door of a dark, seedy looking pub. Harry blinked a couple of times, allowing his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. There was a long bar, where a couple of people dressed in odd clothes sat, all turned towards the door to see the newcomers; a couple of tables were placed hazardously across the floor, complete with mismatched chairs; behind the bar stood an old, stooped man, idly cleaning the countertop.

"Hello, Hagrid," he called out cheerfully, "Will you have your usual?"

"Can' t'day, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," he clapped his hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry flinched, mentally berating himself a moment later. No one seemed to notice; however, everyone at the bar turned and stared at him. More than a little nervous from all the attention, he fixed his gaze firmly on the floor.

"Good Lord," the bartender said, leaning forward, "Is this—can this be…" he walked out from around the bar and approached them; Harry jerked his eyes up, startled. "It is! Harry Potter, this is an honor." Harry blinked at him. _ WHAT?_ was all he could think before everyone in the bar (all five people) got up and crowded around, shaking his hand.

"I'm so glad to meet you at last…"

"…this has definitely made my day..."

"Wait till I tell Alice about this; oh, she's never going to believe it!"

"Well met, Mr. Potter, well met"

_What the Hell is going on and how do all these people know my name?_ Harry thought frantically. He didn't have much interaction with normal people and absolutely none with wizards, but somehow he felt that this was out of the ordinary. He risked a glance up a Hagrid, eyes pleading to get him out of this situation, as he had really no idea how to respond.

"Alright, gents, that's enough," Tom suddenly interrupted, catching the look Harry had shot at Hagrid (who had totally missed it). "Give the lad some breathing space. You're going to Diagon Alley, are you not?" he asked Hagrid, leading the two of them to the back of the bar and out into a small courtyard.

He walked up to one of the brick walls, pulled a stick out of his pocket, and tapped a specific brick three times. Harry blinked again as the bricks in the wall began to move, twisting this way and that, folding themselves into a solid archway which showed the beginnings of a windy, cobblestone street lined with shops of dubious stability, advertising the most unbelievable things. Despite his best efforts, Harry felt his jaw drop. Tom chuckled.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter, to Diagon Alley."

:~:

Hagrid took off down the Alley at a brisk pace, and Harry jogged slowly in his wake to keep up, gazing as discreetly as he could at all the shops, the items they were selling, and the people. There weren't that many out this early in the morning, but the ones he saw seemed to be wearing robes and carrying the oddest things: pointed hats, more of those sticks (wands, he assumed), bags made of God-knows-what. He was in fact so intent on observing the environment without appearing to do so that he almost bumped into Hagrid when the man stopped suddenly. He caught himself just in time, mentally swearing at his lack of vigilance.

"All right there, Harry?" Hagrid asked, before gesturing to the enormous, white marble building in front of them. "This is Gringotts, the wizarding bank," he explained, "It's very famous an' guarded by goblins, yeh'll see," he finished, starting up the steps.

_Goblins?_ Harry wondered, recalling everything he could remember about them from various fantasy books he'd read, which suddenly no longer seemed a waste of time. _Aren't they supposed to be evil? Oh well, no prejudices, this is a new world you're in, don't hate on a species just because of some (probably inaccurate) information you read._ With this in mind, he nodded politely to the goblin guard as he passed, and hurried after Hagrid, missing the surprised look on its face at the gesture.

"Mornin'," said Hagrid, walking up to one of the unoccupied goblins, "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Potter's safe."

"And does Mr. Potter have his key?" the goblin asked politely, turning to Harry.

"Got it somewhere in 'ere," Hagrid began to dig through the various pockets in his coat, missing the way the goblin narrowed his eyes and frowned. Harry didn't. _So what's this about? Apparently, I've got a safe, with—presumably—money in it, which makes sense as to why we're here first, as supplies must cost a lot. And Hagrid has my key; for some reason, I doubt he had it to begin with, which means someone else had my key and therefore access to my safe._

Odds were, this person was trustworthy, especially if they sent the key with Hagrid when he went to pick Harry up; however, Harry had always had a hard time keeping things that belonged to him from Dudley (or the rest of the Dursleys), and as such, tended to guard what he considered his very closely. The thought that someone else would have access to his bank account gave him shivers.

"Ahh," Hagrid announced after a span of about five minutes, "'ere it is!" He held up a tiny gold key, which the goblin took and examined closely. At last he straightened.

"All seems to be in order, sir," he said, although Harry got the feeling that this was directed at him rather than Hagrid, "I'll just have someone take you down to the vault, then. Wait here." He went off to get another goblin.

"Yeh've gotta watch these goblins, Harry," Hagrid informed him in a soft whisper, "They're damn good at handlin' money, but they're very tricky creatures. Best not get on their bad side or double cross 'em. Also, they don' like half truths, so when they ask yeh questions, be sure ter respond with the whole."

"Yes sir," Harry said quietly, keeping his face blank. It sounded like blind prejudice to him, but he'd keep it in the back of his mind while he made his own opinion. He sighed inwardly; he hated people who made assumptions without knowing: too many of his teachers had taken the Dursley's word on his supposed bad behavior and tendencies to cheat, and treated him like he was the scum of the earth…on the first day of school before they'd even met him.

He was rather disappointed that Hagrid was proving to be someone who also had these prejudices, although maybe everyone had them, who knew? _Might as well still go into this world unassuming. Think about it: you're old enough to make your own opinions and you're in a brand new world, alone. That's all you need to start over. No more of this 'Dudley's more smart than me' act, you're going to be a good student and as unprejudiced as possible!_

"This is Griphook," the goblin's voice jolted Harry out of his internal lecture, "He'll be your guide for today." The new goblin nodded at them and started off, Hagrid strode behind. Harry nodded and murmured a polite "Thanks" to the accountant goblin before hurrying after them, and leaving the goblin in bewildered shock.

Griphook took them to a small door leading out of the hall and bowed them through it. Instead of more marble, as was expected given the general appearance of the rest of the bank, the passage they moved into was rough hewn stone with a railway built on the bottom. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling along the tracks. They piled in (Hagrid with some difficulty) and the cart went hurtling off, the air growing colder and damper as they rushed deeper and deeper into the passages. Harry couldn't keep the grin of delight off his face from the sheer speed at which they were traveling, the wind pulling at his cheeks and forcing his eyes to burn.

When they finally stopped their dizzying descent, he was no where near ready for it to be over, but Hagrid looked like he was going to be sick, so Harry figured that it was probably for the best. Griphook got out of the cart and Harry followed him, but when he turned to Hagrid, the man remained sitting and held up a hand.

"Yeh go ahead, Harry," he said shakily, "I'll jus' sit 'ere an' make an attemp' ter recover." Harry nodded and followed Griphook over to the wall which, he noticed upon closer inspection, had a key hole in it. _That's a door!_ he thought in delight, looking for any other sign that there was, in fact, a door there, but saw nothing. _I've never seen anything that blended in so well before._ Griphook took the tiny gold key and inserted it into the lock, turning and pushing the door open. Harry shielded to the side when green smoke rushed out of the opening and the goblin chuckled.

"Don't worry, Mr. Potter, it won't hurt you," he stated, gesturing for Harry to enter. Harry cautiously pushed the door inward and slipped into the room, only to freeze in shock. He didn't even notice Griphook following him in; his attention focused entirely on the piles and piles of gold, silver, and bronze coins that filled the room.

"Here's a bag to get what you need, Mr. Potter," the goblin proffered a small leather bag to him, "Don't worry about the weight or amount that goes in: you can put as much money in as you want and it will never weigh any more than it does know." Harry took the bag gingerly and eyed the piles of money.

He really didn't want to talk to anyone, aside from being polite, but he had no idea of what these coins were or how much things in the wizarding world cost. It seemed like a great deal of money to him, but perhaps it was just the average amount for the wizarding world. Which meant that he had to ask questions.

"Umm, excuse me sir," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, although he was impressed at how even it came out. The goblin, who had been in the process of leaving, turned back to him, a slightly surprised expression on his features. Harry blushed and cringed, but continued, "Umm, sorry to ask but what are these coins called and what's their relationship to each other?" seeing the goblin staring at him, apparently stunned by the question, he winced again, but finished gamely, "And what do you think would be an appropriate amount for school supplies?"

The goblin stared at him, long enough for Harry to believe that he wouldn't answer his questions, before blinking, shaking his head a little, and scooping up a handful of coins.

"This," he said, holding up the tiny bronze one, "Is called a Knut. There are twenty-nine Knuts to the Sickle," he held up the silver coin, "And seventeen Sickles to the Galleon," he glanced at Harry's face, and then added, "Galleons are worth quite a lot, most items are priced in Sickles. I'd suggest that you deal in Sickles when an item is priced that way, don't show you have tons of Galleons to be throwing around." Harry nodded in complete understanding.

_Show no power_

"I'd say, for school supplies, you'd need," another glance at Harry, "Would you like me to pick out the amount for you, sir?" Harry nodded vigorously.

"Please!" he stated, and watched as the goblin scooped up handfuls of Galleons and put them into the bag. He added a couple handfuls of Sickles, and one of Knuts.

"Now the way this bag works," he explained, "Is that you think in your head which type of coin you wish to withdraw. If you're thinking about Sickles, only Sickles will come out, and likewise for any other coin. If you need multiple coins, say, three Galleons, five Sickles, and a Knut, think of them in order and withdraw one type at a time. Now, I believe that this is more than you will need for all your purchases, but it's always good to keep some money on you, as you have no idea of when you'll be able to get back to the bank. Gringotts will send you a bank statement, telling you of your withdraws and how much is left in your vault."

"Thank you," Harry murmured politely, clutching the bag tightly to his chest. The gobbling nodded, exiting the vault and locking the door after Harry was out and in the cart, joining them a moment later. Hagrid let out a muted groan and the cart sped back up the way it had come—and even the worrisome issues that he'd have to face upon reaching the surface could not keep the grin off of Harry's face.

The ride back up took a little longer than the one on the way down, and by the time they reached the surface, Hagrid was as green as a lime and looked like he was going to throw up. He staggered from the cart, Harry and Griphook following, and through the door to the main hall, sagging into an arm chair along the wall.

"I need to obtain general information from Mr. Potter," Griphook said stiffly to him, "Will it be alright if we proceed with that?"

"Go ahead," Hagrid managed, "I'll jus' sit 'ere until yeh come back. Don' worry, Harry, won' leave without yeh."

"This way, Mr. Potter," the goblin led Harry down yet another side passage and into a small room containing two chairs and a desk. Harry settled rigidly into one of the armchairs at the goblin's gesture, wondering what in the world the goblin could possibly want to know from him.

"Now, Mr. Potter," Griphook began, pulling a file of parchment out of a drawer and flipping through it, "Were you aware that your bank vault key was in the possession of one 'Albus Dumbledore'?"

"Umm, no sir," Harry replied, not sure what was expected of him, "Up until arriving here, I was not aware that I had a bank vault."

"You were not?" the goblin said sharply, fixing Harry with a piercing look. Harry swallowed hard, but decided a bit of an explanation might be necessary.

"I just recently learned about the magic world," he stammered, "I live with non-magic people."

"Ahh," the goblin sighed, relaxing, "Now this makes sense," he consulted the papers in front of him for a moment, before nodding in apparent satisfaction. "Would you, Mr. Potter, like a key to your own vault? The one key will still remain with its current keeper, but you will have another that will allow you to make withdraws at any time; the keeper of your key is unable to make any withdraws, by the way," he added after a moment.

Harry barely stifled a sigh of relief. _Well, that's one less thing to worry about—not only will I get my own key, but the other key holder (isn't that the Headmaster?) isn't able to take my money._ Harry nodded, and the goblin withdrew a small, gold key, which looked very much like his other one, from a drawer in the desk.

"Your hand, Mr. Potter," Griphook asked, causing Harry to blink at him in distrust. "The key needs to be 'keyed' to you and your family," the goblin explained with a sigh, "And there's only one way to do that." With another look of distrust, Harry gingerly extended his hand, jumping when the goblin seized it. Griphook ignored him and withdrew a small dagger from a pocket in his coat, making a tiny cut on his index finger. He squeezed a drop of blood onto the clear gem set in the key's ring, and then tapped Harry's index finger lightly with his own; the cut healed closed. The clear gem seemed to absorb the blood and, as Harry watched in fascination turned a vivid, emerald green.

"There are three colors this gem will be," Griphook lectured, "A clear gem, as it was previously, shows that the key it ready to be set to a specific vault. A green gem, as it is now, shows that the key is active to the vault. If, for some reason, your vault is frozen or locked down, the gem will turn black, changing back to green when the vault status reverts to active. Any questions?"

"No sir," Harry commented, taking the vault key Griphook handed him, along with a chain.

"String the chain through the key's ring and wear it around your neck. The key and chain will remain invisible, insubstantial, and, for all intents and purposes, will cease to exist until you are once again in Gringotts, whereupon it will reappear." Harry nodded and did as instructed, slipping the chain around his neck and following the goblin from the room.

Hagrid was where they had left him, looking only marginally better and still quite green. Harry eyed him, his thoughts racing around in his head like a blizzard. _Obviously, Hagrid was sent to keep an eye on me as well as make sure I just get my school stuff and nothing else. He'll probably sensor what I get to buy as well, as per staff orders or the like._

Another glace at the almost nauseous man. _While I'm sure he means well, I'd much prefer to explore on my own. He's too trusting for his own good, and if I play this right, I could probably ditch my chaperone without appearing to do so and come out of it with both of us the happier. Hmm…now all I need is a map of the Alley and store suggestions._

"Hagrid," Harry began in a worried tone, "Are you alright? You don't look to good."

"Oh, yeh know, Harry, I jus' don' take rides that well," Hagrid explained gruffly, glancing guiltily up at his charge, "I'll be jus' fine in a'moment."

Both Harry and the goblin eyed him doubtfully. Suddenly, Harry's eyes widened and he let a grin spread across his face, mentally cringing on the inside. This showing of emotions was _so_ not him, but he knew he had to act his part if Hagrid was going to buy this excuse, so he played the totally innocent ten-year-old for all it was worth.

"I've got a great idea," he exclaimed, causing Griphook (who had been walking away) to turn back and eye him oddly, "Why don't you go back down to that pub we visited to get here and get something to drink to settle your stomach. I can get my stuff, which won't be too hard, I mean, they probably set aside school stuff around this time of year, and by the time I get back, you'll be better and can explain the wizarding world to me," Harry finished with a beaming smile.

"Yeh sure yeh can get yer things on yer own?" Hagrid asked, brightened by the prospect, but a little worried about letting such a young kid run around Diagon Alley all by himself.

"Oh, I'll be fine," Harry stated in an assuring voice, "Aunt Petunia lets me shop by myself all the time, and says that I'm really responsible." Well, that last part was a blatant lie, but his aunt did make him do all the grocery shopping by himself. Hagrid looked relieved by this statement and smiled at him.

"Alrigh' then, Harry," he said, slowly levering himself up, "Jus' come an' find me once yer finished. I know, I'll take yeh ter that ice cream place an' we can talk there."

"Sounds good," Harry grinned, mentally reeling in disbelief. _Surely it can't be _that_ easy._

He waved goodbye to Hagrid, staring in slight shock as the man half staggered, half stumbled out of the bank, leaving him to his sweet freedom. _Apparently, it is; God, I didn't expect him to take that hook, line, and sinker so quickly!_ Shaking his head in disbelief, he walked over to one of the goblins working behind the counter.

"Umm, excuse me, sir," he murmured, causing the goblin to glare down at him, "I was just wondering if you, perchance, have a map of Diagon Alley, please?" he finished quickly, cringing.

The goblin eyed him for a moment, and then placed a piece of parchment on the countertop. He tapped it sharply with his claw and inked lines spread from the tip, molding into a well detailed map with labels; Harry blinked. _Wicked!_

"Anything else?" the goblin queried in a bored tone.

"Could you please point out where to get school supplies for Hogwarts?" Harry asked with another cringe.

The goblin sighed in annoyance again and tapped the map once more. The small squares and shapes which represented the shops suddenly became color coded, and the key to the map grew several inches. The goblin eyed Harry critically for a moment, and tapped the map for a third time. A section of the Alley which branched off was suddenly barred with red, accompanied by the words 'DO NOT ENTER'.

"Avoid this area," he stated, "You're a little too young for you to be safely wandering around Knockturn Alley, so don't go down this way. Have a nice day."

"Thank you," Harry said, taking the map and walking to the entrance of Gringotts. Some other customers had entered, and a few of them gasped when they saw him, pointing and whispering. Harry did his best to ignore them (as he was used to being pointed at and talked about by his classmates), but he couldn't help but notice that their stares were focused on his face—and more specifically, his scar. _Great,_ he thought, irritated, _This is just what I need: guess I'm a freak in this wizard world, too._

Once passed the people, he unhooked his hair from behind his ears and let it slide into his eyes and across his face. He strongly disliked having his hair block his vision (which was bad enough as it was), but it did a descent job of hiding his scar and would probably lessen the number of people staring at him.

Harry sat down on the steps of Gringotts and took a good look at the map, idly wondering what to get first. He glanced at the list of school supplies, mentally adding what else he wanted to get.

_Let's see: a trunk would probably be a good idea, what else am I going to carry everything in. I need some regular clothes, as we're probably not expected to wear our robes all the time, and I don't want to wear Dudley's old stuff. More books are a definite. People around here seem to write with quills, so I need to get stationary stuff and learn how to write with the things. I don't know anything about wizarding medicine, but maybe they have a glasses store around here somewhere; it would be a good idea to get at least another pair. I'll have to look into this pet thing, although it would have to defend itself from Dudley. Hmm…trunks first: I have to put all of this stuff somewhere._

With that, he read the map key, which listed every shop and an outline of what it sold. He didn't recognize even half of the items, and ruefully made a mental note to pick up a wizarding dictionary when he got a chance. Finally, he located a luggage store and set off in that direction.

:~:

"Welcome, young man, and what can I do for you today?" the man behind the counter asked as he entered the shop. Harry took a deep breath and mentally braced himself for a lot of long conversations with complete strangers. To say he was uncomfortable talking to people would be a vast understatement, but he knew he couldn't let this show. _Time to see if the endless manners drilled into me by the Dursleys are really any good_, he thought quickly.

"Hello, I'm looking for a trunk of some sort to store my school supplies in." He answered as politely as he could, very proud that he kept his voice from shaking. The shopkeeper gave him a smile.

"Ahh," he exclaimed, walking out from behind the counter and down an isle, gesturing for Harry to follow him, "Do you have any specifics that you would like with it or a price range?"

"Not very expensive, please," Harry decided to reply to the question he understood, wincing when the shop keeper gave him a knowing look.  
"I see; tell me, how much do you know about trunks in general?" he asked.

"Not much, and nothing about magical ones," Harry was reluctant to break one of the rules, but decided that it would be better to admit to a lack of knowledge than make a fool of himself later on; the shopkeeper seemed nice, and Harry trusted his instincts enough to let him have this small piece of information.

"Muggleborn, are you?" the shopkeeper gave him a small smile, "I understand completely. Would you like me to explain the system of trunk choosing to you?" Harry nodded and made an attempt to smile back. _Muggleborn,_ he thought, _That must mean non-magical. Or at least, muggle does. I seem to remember reading it somewhere._

"Right," the shopkeeper said, "All these trunks have locks which can be keyed specifically to you and those you choose to let open it. Apart from that, they are made to have features magically installed in them. Here's a list of what those features can be. Read over it and pick four (that's the maximum) or fewer and then look around on this half of the isle and decide which trunk you like best. Realize that one of the features to be added includes an almost infinite space limit, so don't be worried about the size. I'll be in the front if you need me."

With that, he handed Harry a piece of parchment and walked back to his counter to help another customer. Harry looked down at the list, marveling at the options.

List of Possible Trunk Combinations

**Invisibility**: trunk is invisible to all but you

**Infinite Space**: trunk can hold as much as you can put in it

**Keep Alive**: trunk is able to keep animals (or otherwise) alive for infinite time when stored in it

_NOTE: animals will NOT live beyond normal life span, but will not need food or water while in trunk_

**Infinite Compartments**: trunk has ability to have multiple compartments to put belongings in

**Sleep Scape**: trunk can turn into a bed

**Travel Friendly**: trunk will clean, mend, and iron all clothes once put in it

**Grab a Bite**: trunk will keep food fresh for a year after it is put in it

_NOTE: animal rule does not apply and fresh food will not spoil until a year is over_

**Stop, Thief!**: trunk will whistle loudly any time someone other than you attempts to open it

'**Morning'**: trunk has alarm clock

**Place to Sit**: trunk can transform into armchair

**Switch**: trunk can access contents with any other trunk with this feature

_NOTE: can lock feature and only allow certain people's trunks to access yours_

**Light Load**: trunk maintains same weight as when empty no matter what is put in it

**Wheeee!**: trunk can fly (similar to flying carpet)

_NOTE: underage wizards are NOT permitted this feature without parental permission_

**My Home**: trunk comes pre-supplied with basic home supplies (cooking utensils and dishes, linens, cleaning supplies, etc)

**Speak**: trunk will make desired item appear on top of belongings when asked for it

Harry reread the list a number of times, awed by what magic could do and wondering what in the world he would pick. After several more moments of consideration, he finally decided upon the 'Infinite Space', 'Keep Alive', and 'Light Load' features, making a mental note to ask the shopkeeper about the 'Infinite Compartments' one, which may or may not be his fourth choice.

He toyed with the 'Grab a Bite' feature, which sounded exactly like something he would need to survive the Dursleys, but had finally discarded it upon realizing that he would need to get the food to begin with. _And what are the odds of that happening?_ His decision made, he wandered the section of the isle looking at all the trunks, once again marveling at the wizarding world's options.

The trunks were all made of leather and/or metal, but after that the similarities ended. They came in every size, shape, and color: round, square, rectangular, triangular, vivid reds, bright pinks, yellows, blues, greens, browns, black, white, patterns, multiple colors, the list was endless. Harry finally picked a non-script, medium sized, midnight blue rectangular one—the edges, corners, and buckles done in some sort of black metal. The lock looked simple enough, but upon further inspection, he found it was actually quite complicated and framed by snakes. He picked it mainly because it didn't stand out and looked inexpensive and almost second hand (whether it was expensive or not didn't really matter, the appearance was everything).

"Find what you were looking for and decided on your options?" the shopkeeper's voice, sounding right behind him, made him jump, but he managed not to spin around suddenly and congratulated himself on this small victory. _Lack of knowledge of surroundings,_ he mentally growled, _You're breaking the survival rules again, so PAY MORE ATTENTION!_

"Yes," he replied politely, giving no sign of the mental lecture he was putting himself through, "I like this trunk."

"Good choice," commented the shopkeeper and he lifted it down and carried it to the front of the store, "Sturdy, stains won't show, good clasp and lock, yes, very good choice." Harry smiled nervously at the (unintended) compliment the shopkeeper had paid him and followed him through the isles.

The shopkeeper set the trunk on the counter and turned to regard the wall behind the counter, which was covered with pegs from which keys of various sizes and shapes were hanging. He ran his gaze down the racks, mumbling under his breath, and finally selected a small, somewhat ornate key of the same black metal as the trunk.

"Now," he said, "Each trunk is specifically keyed to its owner. This key will open your trunk; however, the trunk does not just rely on the key to open it. When you insert the key into the lock, you also must whisper a password in any language you choose, although the password feature can be disabled. Now to set and or change the password, you need to tap your wand on the lock and say the current password and then the new one of your choice. Do you have your wand?"

"I haven't gotten it yet, sorry," Harry managed to not mumble the response, as that was impolite, but it still came out way to softly. The shopkeeper didn't notice.

"Actually, that's probably for the better. The trunk features take about ten minutes to set up, so you would just have to wait here anyway. While I do it for you, you can go and get your wand; Ollivanders should be opening right about now. Sound good?" Harry nodded; it would take care of yet one more item on his list and he might need his wand for other shops. "Right, then which functions did you decide on?" Harry told him, and then asked about the 'Infinite Compartment' feature.

"Ahh, that one is very interesting. It allows you to sort your belongings and keep them separate from one another. You can label the compartments according to what is in them, and can have as many as you would like, although, again, it requires a wand. Would you like that to be your fourth feature?" Harry nodded again and said a polite goodbye as he headed over to Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands.

:~:

There were still only a few shoppers on the streets, though it was just after seven in the morning. Harry enjoyed the quiet and walked quickly down the Alley, following the map to the wand shop. He eyed the antique appearance of the building somewhat distrustfully, but the door was open and he had to get his wand.

He slowly stepped into the shop, stopping in front of the counter and waiting patiently, as no one was in sight. He took in the dusty, gloomy appearance of the store; behind the counter there were tall bookcases of shelves, stacked high with long, thin boxes. Rails ran along the top of the shelves, ladders on wheels hanging from them to allow easy access and movement among the cases. Everything was covered with a coat of dust.

"Good morning," said a soft voice. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin and only barely managed to hold back a small scream, which he was thankful for. There was no need to sound like a six-year-old girl. He glanced up to where the voice had come from. An old man with silvery eyes that glowed through the gloom of the shop was standing on a ladder that must have just rolled to its position, as it had not been there previously.

"Hello," Harry said, awkwardly.

"Ah, yes," said the man, "Yes, yes, I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." _My mum was a witch? _was Harry's first thought to this odd statement, _And she came here? Wait, I have her eyes? What? This guy is creepy._

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course." _So he knew my Dad too?_ Mr. Ollivander got off his ladder and approached the counter, leaning across it to peer directly into Harry's eyes. Harry fought the urge to take at least a step back and instead stood rigidly still, praying that he'd be able to get out of there soon.

"And that's where…" Mr. Ollivander brushed Harry's hair aside and touched the lightning scar on his forehead with a long, white finger. Harry flinched almost imperceptibly.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…"

_WHAT?_ Harry thought, trying to make sense of this man's weird statements, _I got my scar from a wand owned by an apparently evil wizard? I thought I got it in the car crash that killed my parents. And why would an evil wizard put a lightning shaped scar on my forehead? Why would he have met me, anyway?_

God, he was so confused. First everyone was recognizing him and making a big deal out of seeing him, and now this creepy wand merchant was telling him he got the scar from a wand instead of a car crash. _It seems that I'm well known for something. What the HELL did I do?_

"Well, now—Mr. Potter. Let me see." Mr. Ollivander pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?" Harry blinked at him, completely lost.

"I'm right-handed," he said, wondering if that was the information Mr. Ollivander wanted.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and around his head. Harry stood rigidly still during the entire process; he hated people touching him, but there seemed no easy way to avoid this, so he just had to endure.

"You see, Mr. Potter," Mr. Ollivander lectured as he measured him, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

_Well, that answers that question. You can use other people's wands, it just doesn't work as well._ Harry made a mental note of that, and watched as Mr. Ollivander wandered through the shelves, finally selecting a box.

"Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beech-wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave." Harry eyed the wand a tad bit distrustfully, accepting it as if he expected it to blow up in his hands. Feeling very awkward, he started to bring it down in a swish, only to have it snatched from his hands almost immediately. He jumped.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—" Again, same process, although this time he refrained from jumping.

"No, no, here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for, but felt that it was rude to ask. The wands continued to pile up on the counter, but the more wands that Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelf, the happier he seemed to get.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match in here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand and nearly dropped it. A warm invisible glow seemed to be spreading up through his fingers and arm and settling in his chest. He brought the wand down in a sudden swishing movement and it let out a brilliant stream of rainbow sparks, which sparkled into nothing.

Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well…how curious…how very curious…" He put Harry's wand into its box and handed it to him, still muttering. Harry, now curious himself, stifled his instinct to keep quiet and managed to breath out a very soft,

"Sorry, but _what's_ curious?" Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare, making him flinch.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather—just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother—why, its brother gave you that scar." Harry swallowed in shock. _Oh God, this just keeps getting weirder and weirder. So what are the odds that this guy is telling the truth as opposed to my relatives?_ he thought, ending with a mental snicker. Right, because that was hard to decide.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember…I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter…After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things—terrible, yes, but great."

_Wonderful, yet another endless storm of questions. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, eh? So this is the evil person? Somehow, I doubt he chose that particular name to go by._ Harry paid seven gold Galleons for his wand and left the shop, glad to get out. He didn't like Mr. Ollivander at all, as he was yet another person who went on and on about him. _Maybe there's a book on what I did…in another life, perhaps? Does reincarnation even _happen_ in the wizarding world? It's worth a shot._ He headed back to the luggage store.

:~:

Ten minutes later, he stood at the door, ready to leave and continue on his seemingly endless list of supplies. The trunk had been fitted with the features, and although he had yet to set a password, he'd been assured that he could easily set it on his own. _Now all I have to worry about is how to drag this around with me all day. Well, it's a magical world, so this might be possible._

"Is there any way to make this trunk smaller so I can carry it around?" he asked as politely as he could. The shopkeeper blinked at him for a moment.

"Of course! Sorry, I completely forgot about the fact that you're not used to this world. Here," he made some movement with his wand, and suddenly the trunk shrunk to the size of Harry's thumb.

Harry blinked. _I'm never getting used to this magic thing._ "This is quite a simple spell to work. When you want the object larger, just think or say 'regular size', and when you want it smaller, say or think 'travel size'. As the spell is already set up, it requires no magic on your part and therefore, you won't get penalized for using magic outside of school. All of the other stores on Diagon Alley will shrink your belongings as well, so don't worry about carrying them. Now, anything else?"

Harry left the shop five minutes later, having paid for his (rather expensive) trunk as well as a small, leather, non-magical bag to carry all his tiny items in. _Where to now, maestro? Hmm, bookstore or robes, bookstore or robes…save best for last, so 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions' it is._

Madam Malkin's, as it turned out, was even worse for the 'paranoid-of-physical-contact' than Ollivanders had been. Not only did robes have to be fitted (which meant constant contact with the material, which happened to be on him), but Madam Malkin turned out to be the kind of person who gave comforting pats on the shoulder every time she passed. Harry was sure she meant well, and actually liked her a lot, but he had still jerked a little every time she did it. However, he had felt comfortable enough in her presence to ask if there was an ordinary clothing store that sold other than robes, and she had been more than delighted to point him in its direction. He'd left the robe shop with his shrunken school requirements as well as a few extra cloaks and robes: his school clothing tended to get destroyed by the other kids and he had no intentions of being unprepared for such an event.

And now he found himself in yet another clothes store, going through shirts and slacks, looking for the most neutral colors which wouldn't stand out. He was also so used to wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs that he disliked the clothes that were so called 'his size', as they seemed too tight. He finally left that store with a few outfits that, while much smaller than the stuff he had previously been forced to wear, were still a little large on him. _And now, finally, the bookstore!_

Flourish & Blotts was as wonderfully large and stuffed with books as he had imagined. Harry loved reading; it had appealed to him at first because it was the one thing Dudley avoided like the plague, and therefore the library was a safe refuge. Over the years, he'd grown to liking it for its own sake, and now considered reading to be his favorite hobby: his favorite genre, by far, was fantasy.

_And now to be in a store devoted to 'fantasy' stuff, which actually turns out to be real, well…I could easily die from sheer delight. What to read first?_ He got his school books, as well as multiple other books in each category (history seemed just like a fantasy novel, so he had to pick up some more of those, and this Potions stuff was fascinating, not to mention charms and transfiguration). And then the fun began.

Dealing with books was, literally, the only time he had no fear in asking multiple questions to complete strangers, and now that he was going to be able to _buy_ books, well…forty-five minutes later, he was quite sure he'd driven the really nice shop assistant insane with requests for _the wizarding equivalent_ of 'this muggle subject' or 'muggle/wizarding dictionary', etc. He eventually left the shop, his money severely depleted, with books on myths, mind arts, this thing called arithmancy (which seemed to be the equivalent of math, which he quite liked), ancient runes, and even a book on 'one Harry Potter' (a last minute inspiration on his part that took a great deal of courage to ask for. Turned out, there was more than one book on him, and he had to ask for the one with the most information. Ahh, now he could figure out why he was 'famous').

Another glance at his list and he was off again, to get quills and parchment. The lady behind the counter was very nice and turned out to be a muggleborn herself. She told him, in a grinning whisper, that, although all essays had to be done in ink, notes could be taken with any instrument available, which included pens and pencils. Harry finally left the quill shop with the required materials, as well as a book explaining how to write with the blasted things, extra paper to practice on, and a special dictation quill which could block out all other voices (or not, depending on what was desired) and write down what someone was saying.

A quick trip later and he had obtained his cauldron, scales, phials, and telescope from an odd, small shop. He also picked up a book on mind games and a bag of enchanted marbles (he had no idea what that meant, but he liked marbles, as Dudley had hated them and therefore, they were easy for Harry to get his hands on).

The Apothecary was across the street, and he gathered his 'potion' ingredients, his mind reeling with what he was seeing. The place might smell bad, but the contents were fascinating, and he spent far too much time looking at eyeballs, unicorn horns, beetles, and all sorts of other odds and ends.

He finally dragged himself out of the store, barely managing to avoid a tall, pale man dressed entirely in black who snarled at him as he entered the store. He mentally went over his list: _Robes—check; books—check; potion ingredients—check; random equipment—check; trunk—check; wand—check; pet—…?_ Harry sighed as his feet took in him the direction of the pet store, holding a mental argument with himself.

_There's no way in the world that the Dursley's are going to let you have a pet, so why are you even going? Ok, Ok, Ok, you like animals, got it, but seriously, you can't get a cat (do you _want_ to end up like Mrs. Figg?), an owl is too big, although one would be nice, and so that leaves the toad. To the reptile section of the store it is!_

Harry entered the shop and walked over to examine the toads. None of them caught his interest, but the snakes, on the other hand…_Nope, no way. It says right here an Owl OR a Cat OR a Toad, no snakes!_ His mental conscious didn't stop him from looking at them, though. He listened to them, smiling slightly.

"_Thisss isss ssso boring!"_

"_I know, have you even taken a look at thessse humansss?"_

"_They're ssso unintelligent. When I get out of here…"_

Harry fought to keep from snickering. Snakes were so sarcastic—he had yet to meet one that wasn't. Seeing a father and (presumably) his son approaching, he ducked into a darker corner of the shop, where the bigger snakes were.

"Oh, look at the snakes, Dad!" the boy (who looked to be about twelve) exclaimed, "Aren't they amazing? I wish I could talk to snakes…" he ended with a sigh.

"Now Sean," his father said, "You know talking to snakes is a Dark ability and should not be asked for; only You-Know-Who and the descendents of Salazar Slytherin can talk to snakes." _WHAT?_

"I know, but it would still be pretty neat." They moved on, leaving Harry in shock. _No, not _another_ thing to be freakish for! Well, that clears up that issue. Great, why me? Alright, now no letting anyone realize you can do this. New survival rule: No talking to snakes in public._ He sighed, turning to head out of the section and look at the toads once more when one of the large snakes, a boa constrictor, in fact, caught his eye. He blinked at it, wondering why it looked strangely familiar, when suddenly, it raised its head.

"_YOU! Well, I wasssn't expecting to sssee you again, amigo!"_ Harry stared in shock. _No way, there's just no way,_ he thought giddily.

"_I thought you were going to Brazil?"_ was the only thing he could think of replying, before mentally smacking himself.

_No talking to snakes in public_

"_Well, I tried, but thessse people caught me. They had thessse funny sssticks and kept going on and on about how I wasss a magic sssnake and then they locked me in thisss cage. Ssssssigh…What about you. What are you doing here?"_

"_Sssame ssstory, except for the sssnake part and the cage. Got told I wasss magical and wasss sssent to pick up my ssschool ssstuff for next year."_

"_Sssoundsss like fun. Don't sssupossse you could do that thing you did lassst time? What with the glassss and all?"_

"_Sssorry, that wasss completely accidental. I've got no idea how I did it, and I doubt I could do it again. However…"_ Harry trailed off. Well, there was one thing he could do, although he'd have to hide him, as snakes were definitely not allowed a Hogwarts. _Oh, whatever, he needs my help!_ He looked at the snake again. _"I could buy you, if you don't mind."_

"_Hmm, an interessssting offer, amigo. I'd be able to ssstay with you?"_

"_If you wanted to, I think, although you'd have to hide."_

"_Oh, I'd like to. You're funny and can underssstand sssnakesss. Hiding'sss easssy. Watch."_ Harry stared in shock as the giant boa constrictor shrunk to the size of a small bracelet, changing colors as he did so. _"I think I'll be green today. I alwaysss liked green."_

"_How did you do that?"_ Harry asked the snake, weakly.

"_Oh, it'sss part of that magic ssstuff; apparently I can change sssize, ssshape, and color at will. Ssso can we go now?"_

"_You can't let anyone know I have you, asss it'sss againssst the rulesss to have sssnakesss at my ssschool, and I need to know your name."_

"_Fine with me, and my name'sss Sssebassstian."_

"_Hello, Sssebassstian, nice to meet you. I'm Harry."_

"_Hola, amigo!"_

"_Isss there any way you could change into a sssmall, normal sssnake which sssomeone my age would be able to buy?"_

"_No problem, amigo!"_ Sebastian turned into a green garden snake, and Harry lifted him out of the tank carefully.

"_I won't be able to talk to you once we go out in public, ssso what do you want from here?"_

"_Just pick sssome ssstuff, amigo, but I don't need a tank."_ Harry walked over to the counter and gingerly handed the boa-constrictor-turned-garden-snake over to the shop assistant. He picked out a magically heated rock (a larger one, as he knew Sebastian wouldn't stay small forever), a book on snakes (magical snakes), and a small box filled (magically) with a years supply of dead mice, guaranteed to stay fresh until eaten. _Lovely_.

Five minutes later, Harry left the shop, the supplies in his bag and Sebastian subtly shrinking until he formed a small necklace-like-thing, hiding under Harry's shirt, his head directly under Harry's ear.

Harry looked down at his map, his eyes skimming the key looking for any shop that might sell glasses. _Ahh, there; to The Oculist we go._

:~:

After ten minutes of wandering around, Harry finally entered the store, more than a little wary and slightly annoyed. The map was useful, yes, but there were stores that were not included on it, and this made it very difficult to find small shops. Sebastian had abandoned his place around Harry's neck (if they were looking at glasses, then someone would probably see him as their attention would be focused on his face) and instead had curled up in a small bracelet around Harry's wrist.

As if sensing his nervousness, the snake gave him a little squeeze as he entered the shop, and then settled down, presumably to take a nap.

"How can I help you?" a thin, middle-aged woman appeared behind the counter and looked at Harry inquiringly. Harry flinched, and then gave a timid smile.

"I'm looking for another pair of glasses," he replied quietly. The lady smiled at him, taking a good look at the glasses he currently had on.

"Yes, yours don't look to be in that good of condition. Come on, this way." She gestured, leading him into room at the back of the store. She motioned for him to sit down and to remove his glasses. Harry did so warily; he was completely blind without them and didn't like giving someone that kind of power of him. He thought he heard a slight gasp from the Oculist, but then, as if sensing his nervousness, she began to explain what she was doing and he decided to ignore it.

"Don't worry, this isn't going to hurt at all. I'm just going to check your eyesight. It's a quick spell, aught to take only five minutes, and then I'll be able to tell to what degree your eyesight can be fixed and whether you'll even need glasses afterwards. Now just hold still." Harry, who had already been sitting rigidly, went stiller than death. A moment later, he felt an odd tingling sensation which slowly moved through his eyes and eventually settled directly behind them. He struggled not to blink.

"Well," the Oculist said finally, "You're eyesight's pretty bad. I can fix most of it, but you're going to have to wear reading glasses for a number of years, perhaps permanently."

"You mean I don't have to wear glasses all the time?" Harry asked, his jaw falling open in shock.

"Good heavens, no," she exclaimed, "No, you'll just have to wear glasses for reading, and even then, I think you'll be able to read stuff without them, it just might seem fuzzy and give you a headache." Harry didn't mention that words were fuzzy normally and reading _did_ give him a headache; he just ignored it.

"Now, I just need you to drink these potions; they're only three of them, dear, don't worry; and then I need you to sit still while I perform the necessary spell-work to complete the corrections."

Harry drank the liquids she handed him, grateful that she was careful to make sure he had a good grasp on the bottle before letting go, as he still couldn't see a thing. The potions tasted vile, but he swallowed to keep them down and went still again as she'd told him to.

"Close your eyes, dear." A moment later, Harry felt her wand tip on his eyelid, drawing a faint circular pattern, before repeating the gesture on the other one. His eyes tingled sharply; feeling as if they were full of pins and needles, similar to the feeling in his arm or leg after in had been in one position for too long. "Right, dear, all done. You can open your eyes now."

Harry opened his eyes, blinked once, and then stared and stared. The room was crystal clear in a way he'd never seen it before (although the objects within an arms length of him were still a little bit fuzzy). He could see the sharp outline of the table, chairs, cabinets, the woman in front of him (peering at him somewhat worriedly)…_So this is what the world looks like,_ he thought in sheer, disbelieving wonder, turning his awed face to the lady who had corrected his vision.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice a little worried, "I know the objects in front of you are a little blurry, but a pair of reading glasses will fix—"

"It's clear," Harry breathed, no longer able to keep this new, amazing revelation to himself, "Everything's so _clear_!" the Oculist blinked in surprise (as this was clearly not the answer she was expecting), before nodding slowly.

"Yes, it's supposed to be clear."

"And it will stay like this?" Harry asked, wonderingly.

"Yes, your vision will remain like this, although if you experience any major headaches or problems with blurry vision, you should stop by and I'll attempt to do something about it. Either way, I'll want to see you again in about a year from now, to see how things are going and update your reading glasses. Speaking of glasses," she turned to one of the cabinets and pulled out a pair of frames and a large mirror.

"Here, put these on," she said, handing him the frames, "They're just clear glass at the moment, as we're simply getting the frame design you want, and then afterwards, I'll spell them for you vision. Now look in the mirror and tell me what design you like best." She tapped her wand on the edge of the frames, slowly changing them from one shape to another.

Ten or so minutes later, Harry all but skipped out of the shop, his new glasses (small, oval lenses with no frame along the bottom) in his bag along with his old ones (which now only contained clear glass, courtesy of the Oculist, who had looked somewhat suspicious at the request but had complied none the less).

Sebastian had slithered back up his arm and was once again curled around his neck under his shirt. _Right,_ Harry thought, his mind still singing with half delight,_ time to find Hagrid._

Finding Hagrid turned out to be relatively easy. As he walked passed Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor (on his way to the Leaky Cauldron), he noticed the giant man sitting at one of the tables outside, waving at him. Harry waved back and made his way over, with a strict warning under his breath to Sebastian to _not_ reveal himself.

"Hullo, Harry! Have yeh gotten all yer stuff?"

"Hi Hagrid, yes I did," Harry managed to produce a beaming smile (no doubt due to the euphoria of being able to see, which had yet to wear off) and slid into the seat across from him. Hagrid pushed an ice cream sundae across the table to him.

"'ere, Harry. Got yeh some ice cream," Harry stared in shock. Aside from that lemon thing he'd had at the zoo, he'd never had ice cream before, and for someone to voluntarily get it for him…_Oh, no. Just because he's being nice doesn't mean he's not after something in return. Yes, you can probably trust him a little more, but he's not your friend just yet!_

"T-t-thank you!" Harry managed to stammer, and Hagrid beamed at him. "What can you tell me about Hogwarts?"

"Oh, Hogwarts is the best o' places, it is. Yer mum an' dad jus' loved it there, in fact, I don't be knowin' one person who didn'—"

"My mum and dad went to Hogwarts?" Harry interrupted.

"Oh, yeah. Top o' their class, they were. Head boy an' girl, too. Never a finer witch or wizard in all the world."

"What can you tell me about them?" Harry said, breathless. He'd never met anyone who'd known his parents before, aside from his aunt and uncle, but they didn't count. _Screw learning about the magic world; I've got books on that. This guy knew my parents!_

And so, for the next few hours, Harry badgered Hagrid for every detail about his mum and dad, for once forgetting his shyness and practically begging for answers. Hagrid was more than willing to oblige, seemingly delighted by the questions and Harry found out more about his parents than he'd ever know before.

His mum, apparently, was the nicest witch in the school, sticking up to bullies and befriending everyone, no matter what the house ("Yeh see, Harry, there're four houses in Hogwarts, an' they all compete with one another, but she jus' ignored those rules an' her best friend was a Slytherin while she was in Gryffindor, like yer dad."). She was amazing at charms and second only to her Slytherin friend in Potions ("It's a very hard class, Harry, espec'ly now with Prof'sor Snape teachin' it.").

His father was one of the most popular boys in the school, and had three other best friends that he did everything with. He was really good at transfiguration and a played Quidditch ("It's the wizardin' sport, Harry, too hard t'explain, but yeh'll see."). He (and his group of friends) were also, apparently, pranksters, and Hagrid laughed himself silly describing some of their better pranks.

All too soon, Hagrid said it was time to go, although he promised that—once Harry got to Hogwarts—he could visit him any time and here more stories. Harry, having for once and for all given up his suspicions of Hagrid agreed with a genuine smile and they left the ice cream shop.

"Oh yeah, wait a minute." Hagrid stopped suddenly and turned around, "I still haven' got yeh a birthday present." Harry almost tripped, his shock finally breaking past the 'blink point' and his jaw fell open. _WHAT!_ No one had ever gotten him a present before, except that one time Mrs. Figg tried to give him a kitten once for his birthday (his aunt had coldly said no). Why would a complete stranger get him a present? _Well, ok, not a complete stranger, but still._

"Y-you don't have to; I really d-don't need a birthday—"

"I know I don' have'ta. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at—an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yeh an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium. Harry's protests that he really didn't need a present had been met by deaf ears, and he had been secretly delighted at the thought of having an owl. Even Sebastian had thought it was a good idea.

"_Sssee, once you have another animal, amigo, then it will be even lessss likely sssomeone will notice me. Only I get to help pick. I think I can talk to owlsss…"_

So, along with the somewhat questionable help from his snake (_"NO! Don't get that one! Thossse thingsss _eat_ sssnakesss!"_), he exited the shop carrying a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. As it turned out, Sebastian couldn't directly talk to owls, but they did seem to understand each other (well, the ones that weren't looking to eat him), and this particular one had gotten along better with him then any of the others. Harry couldn't stop stammering his thanks. This was without doubt the best (pre-) birthday he'd ever had.

Things got a little hectic upon their arrival at the Leaky Cauldron, as Tom had a very urgent message for Hagrid from the Headmaster telling him he was needed at Hogwarts immediately. Hagrid felt bad about leaving Harry, but after being assured that Harry could use muggle transportation to get home (Aunt Petunia had sent him on hundreds of missions into the city to get things for her, so he was very used to it) and that Tom was willing to help him with whatever he needed up to that point, he handed Harry his train ticket and left, presumably for Hogwarts.

Harry found that Tom was extremely helpful. The bartender exchanged ten Galleons into pounds for him, which was more than enough for him to pay his way home. He also suggested that Harry tell his owl to fly to his house, as carrying an owl in a cage would certainly attract attention. Harry did so (apparently, the owl could find her way to Privet Drive without much direction) and Tom shrank the cage for him. He also provided Harry with a free meal, which Harry was more than willing to take.

_Never turn down charity when you need it_

As he ate the startlingly good stew, he glanced idly at his train ticket, before blinking. _God, can't wizards do _anything_ normally?_ he mentally groaned to himself.

"Tom," he stated matter-of-factly, in a polite tone of voice (he still hadn't gotten over his shyness to anyone other than Hagrid), "King's Cross doesn't have a platform nine-and-three-quarters." Tom glanced at him from where he was cleaning the bar and laughed.

"The muggle one doesn't," he agreed, "But to keep our world separate from theirs, we made that platform. Now, to get on it, you just have to walk strait at and into the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't worry, you're a wizard and you'll go through it. It's like the Diagon Alley wall; it's not what it seems. On the other side, you'll find the train to Hogwarts. Don't worry about it too much." He added kindly. Harry thought for a minute.

"Can anyone call the Knight Bus?" he asked quietly.

"Anyone with a wand can," Tom answered, "Just bring your wand down in a swish in front of you and it'll appear. Now, if you're done, you'd best be going." Harry thanked him and walked out of the pub, glancing along the street to see it there was a bus station near. A witch pushed passed him, stepped to the sidewalk, swished her wand, and lo' and behold, with a _BANG_ the Knight Bus appeared. _Well,_ Harry thought, _This is one way to get home._ He followed the witch onto the bus.

The ride back was as jerking as the ride to the pub had been, but at least Harry was ready for it. Twenty minutes later, he staggered dizzily off onto No. Four Privet Drive, yelling a "Thank you" over his shoulder and lurching up the driveway. He jumped violently when he opened the door and his snowy owl swooped in over his shoulder (he'd had no idea she'd be here already) and he walked into the living room after bolting the door behind him, collapsing onto the couch. _What a day!_ He thought as he idly petted his owl's feathers and watched Sebastian change back to his normal size and explore the room, _What a day!_


	2. The Journey to the Other World

Hello again. Just to clear up a few things before we start:

1. The reason Harry didn't meet Draco (or Professor Quirrell, for that matter) was because he went to the Alley on a different day than in the book. So, technically, they wouldn't be there.

2. The spell Harry casts wandlessly is a simple glammer spell. The reason he can do it is survival: if it's necessary to survive, then he can cast it, although not easily and only under extreme stress.

3. This isn't going to become a slash fan fic between Draco and Harry (although it might be between others). I've got nothing against the pairing, but this one just won't work out that way.

"Speech" _"parseltongue" thoughts _'hat speech'

OC's: Leonardo Monsel = arithmancy teacher

Sydney Astley = ancient runes teacher

Sebastian (doesn't really count) = boa constrictor.

Disclaimer: Wasn't mine, isn't mine, and will never be mine.

* * *

Chapter 2

"What do you mean you didn't get around to cleaning the garage?" Uncle Vernon roared, spittle flying and his mustache quivering as he towered over Harry. "We gave you plenty of time to do these chores, as well as the house to yourself, and this is how your repay us? With laziness?"

He took a menacing step forward and Harry flinched. This was _not_ good. The Dursley's had arrived home Monday morning (two days after Harry's trip to Diagon Alley) to find him working frantically to finish his chores. Things had rapidly gone downhill from there. _And somehow, I'm going to have to tell them that I'm going to a magic school next year. Oh, this is going to go over big_. He crashed into the wall, his face stinging from the sharp backhand it had received, blinking the stars from his eyes.

"It appears I'm going to have to teach you a lesson, boy…" his uncle allowed his voice to trail off menacingly, and privately, Harry admitted he did a rather good job at it. Uncle Vernon definitely did a better job than the evil villains on the telly, and the fact that he unbuckled his belt and wrapped it around his hand as he spoke only accented the point. Harry strung together numerous choice swearwords in his mind, closed his eyes, and waited for it to be over.

Some time later, he was tossed (rather violently) into his cupboard, the door locking shut behind him, with the promise that he'd get enough food to remain alive over the next week, but not one scrap more—the Dursleys didn't want to be charged with murder, after all. _Lovely, now why didn't I think to get extra food while I was at the Alley?_ Harry thought gloomily to himself, staring at the underside of the stairs and willing the raw pain in his back to go away. _Ah, well, at least I now have almost unlimited time to go through my school stuff._ While this thought did nothing for the pain, it did cheer him up enough to sit up and pull out the bag of school items.

"_Hola, amigo!"_ Sebastian uncurled himself from one of the loose boards of the stairs, growing from three inches to a larger, six foot size as he dropped down to the floor. The snake regarded him for a moment, his tongue flicking in and out. _"You don't sssmell ssso good, amigo. Why are you bleeding?"_ Harry looked at the snake in slight shock, making a mental note to read up on exactly what snakes can do/sense in the near future.

"_My uncle got mad becaussse I didn't finisssh all my choresss."_ Harry explained, deciding not to elaborate. He lit his candle, scooting off the mattress and dumping the items out of the bag, marveling at their tiny size. He touched the owl cage wistfully. The previous day, he'd decided that it was too dangerous for his owl to remain with him, as he had no idea of how to hide her, so Harry sent her off to Hogwarts, with the promise that he'd follow as soon as possible. She seemed to understand him, and now he could only hope that she'd arrived safely.

"_Ssshe'll be fine, amigo,"_ Sebastian commented, as if sensing his thoughts, _"I might not care for owlsss that much, but I can tell you that they can take care of themssselvesss. Don't worry."_ Harry shot him a grateful smile and continued to sort through his tiny possessions. _Well,_ he thought, _First thing is first. I need to figure out how that trunk works._

For the rest of the day, all of which he spent locked in his cupboard, Harry sorted through his new possessions. He resized his trunk and found (to his relief) a pamphlet in it which described the various "features" he had as well as how to use them. Harry spent an hour making different compartments (it was quite simple, really; all he had to do was whisper what "compartment" he wanted after he said his password, and the trunk would open to reveal that specific one), making up a password (he wanted to put it in the snake language thing, because he was pretty sure that no one else could speak it, but it broke his most recent survival rule, so he settled for something long, complicated, and as muggle as possible instead), and sorting his new belongings into various piles, resizing them, and putting them into their various compartments.

This done, he set up the 'eternally heated rock' for Sebastian in the dark, back corner of the cupboard, took out the first of his school textbooks (_Hogwarts: A History_) and his magic-to-muggle dictionary, and began to dig in to this bizarre world.

:~:

The remainder of the week (including his birthday) followed the same pattern as the first day. Harry was required to make the family meals, allowed to use the loo, and then lock back up in his cupboard, where he spent all his time reading his textbooks (and other books which he had picked up in the store). He learned about old traditions, odd fungi and how they were used in various potions (and it was this subject he was particularly fascinated with, as it was _so_ complex), people who could change into animals, and lots and lots about snakes (although he was no where nearer to understanding what, exactly, Sebastian was; the snake was no help either).

He'd picked the name Hedwig for his owl, having read about it from one of the history books he'd gotten at Diagon Alley. When he was finally let out of his cupboard, his head was so filled with these unbelievable ideas that he desperately needed the mechanical labor his chores required to let it all sink in. And he needed to tell his relatives about this magic school development.

"Umm, Aunt Petunia," Harry began hesitantly, looking up from the potatoes he was pealing. He'd decided that, of the two adults, she would react better to his sudden announcement and not lock him up in a mental asylum. Besides, if his mother really _was_ a witch, then his aunt probably already knew about magic. _And now we play it safe_…

"What do you want," she snarled at him with a glare. Harry winced.

"Well, you know when you all went on vacation last week and left me here," he searched for the courage needed to finish this statement. Another glare from his aunt, "Well…this really weird person came by, more or less kidnapped me, dragged me to this really weird place where everyone was wearing these robe things, and told me that I had to attend this school of theirs." He finished in a rush, glancing up through the corner of his eyes to see his aunt's reaction to this statement. He was not disappointed. Aunt Petunia had gone dead white, was shaking, and staring at him as if he were a roach that had crawled out of her salad.

"_What_ did you say?" she asked in a deadly soft voice. _Oh, I'm in so much trouble…_Harry repeated his long explanation again, hoping she wouldn't slap him. She remained leaning on the counter for a long moment, her eyes sparkling with fury and an emotion Harry couldn't place. Then, with the speed of a striking snake, she moved, snatching a water bottle and box of crackers from the shelf, grabbing his wrist, and throwing him into his cupboard, tossing the other two objects in after him. He heard the distinct sound of the lock clicking and then her voice hissing through the tiny vent.

"Did they notice anything about you?" there was a deadly promise in her voice, but Harry shook his head and (remembering just in time that she couldn't see him) replied out loud,

"No, Aunt Petunia," _No, no one noticed the bruises on my cheek or neck or back. No, no one noticed how thin I was or that I was wearing hand-me-downs. No, no one noticed anything_. He sighed as he heard her storm back to the kitchen, the survival rule ringing around in his head.

_Don't bother hoping, no one ever notices_

:~:

The month of August passed in excruciating slowness and at lightspeed. Harry had listened that night as his aunt explained that "those freaks came by and saw him, Vernon. There's nothing we can do to stop him from going". As it turned out, both of his relatives had already known about this magic stuff, and Harry was torn between furious horror that they would try to keep him from this world and understanding as to why they hated him so much.

Apparently, the world of magic belonged to freaks (like himself) and normal people didn't associate with them at all. _Well, that makes sense, no wonder why they hate me,_ Harry thought as he listened to his uncle roar in the dining room.

The matter might have ended there except for two factors. Dudley had done a spectacular job eavesdropping on the conversation, and an even better job of throwing a tantrum until he was told what it meant—it had taken a lot of work, as neither of his parents were particularly inclined to tell him…that it, until he threatened to tell one of the neighbors, word for word, what they had said.

_Trust this to be the one time Dudley has a total recall memory._ The Dursleys had reluctantly given in, and Dudley had spent a week staring at Harry in something torn between blind terror and awe, before realizing that Harry wouldn't dare do anything to him under his parents' watchful eyes and returned to bullying him.

The second factor was that, even with Aunt Petunia's assurances that by now it was far too late, Uncle Vernon was determined to "beat the magic out of him", so to speak. Harry had never, _ever_ been beaten this much or this bad before (sure, he'd had worse things done to him by his relatives, but for being beaten into a pulp, the month of August won hands down), and true to form, his aunt was no help whatsoever: she simply told Vernon that it would be useless, and then warned him not to touch Harry's face, as someone "might notice".

However, aside from this, his relatives treated him more or less the same as they'd always had. Despite the fact that they were horrified as to _where_ he was going to school, they appeared delighted that he would not return until the following summer, a sentiment that Harry thoroughly shared.

So for the rest of the month, Harry continued to do majority of the chores, pour over books on magic and snakes (in a vain attempt to figure out what Sebastian was), and have long, complex conversations with Sebastian, who appeared to be bored to tears with his time in the cupboard. Their discussions were also so long in part because once they reached Hogwarts, Harry doubted that they would be able to talk much, if at all, until he'd mastered this silencing spell he'd read about (and seeing how he couldn't practice outside of school, this might take a while).

Harry had attempted to do magic without his wand, but it hadn't really worked. He couldn't perform even the simplest charm from his Charms book, though he said the spell clearly and used his finger to mimic the wand movements. He discovered that he was still able to do the 'cover up' spell (as he'd decided to call it), which allowed him to hide any injury he received (sort of like magical makeup), but didn't actually heal the wound. Still, it was better than nothing.

He had also practiced writing with a quill and ink. Although it yielded better results that his magic experimentation, it was just as frustrating—he spilled the ink, broke quills, made his handwriting splatter, couldn't do the smooth curves despite the calligraphy book's step-by-step directions, and above all else, he couldn't make his writing legible. He was extremely glad that the stationary-store-lady had told him he was allowed to use muggle instruments to take notes, and he'd stocked up on as many pens, pencils, and notebooks/pads as was possible. He also played around with the dictation quill, pleased to see that it wrote neatly and legibly, although in calligraphy.

His other, non-school related books were just as fascinating as his class subjects. He poured over the handful of wizard mythology and legends books he'd picked up, in hopes to get somewhat of a background in the culture. His wizard-to-muggle dictionary was a godsend, to the point were he read the thing, instead of just looking up words.

He read about various historical figures, light magic vs. dark magic, cults, non-humans (werewolves, vampires, centaurs), prophecies: anything his books described. By the end of the month, he'd covered almost everything he'd bought (although he was sure he'd absorbed only about half of it), and he wished he'd gotten more books. _Maybe wizards have something like mail order. Then I could get books without having to go to the Alley._ Well, it was worth a shot.

:~:

August thirty-first was spent in frantic packing and worrying. Having decided to wear some of the new clothes he'd gotten in the Alley (ones that could fit into both cultures and were baggy enough to hide the bruises on his neck) and praying to all the Gods that Tom had told the truth about getting onto the platform—instead of playing a practical joke—Harry packed all his belongings, both magical and non magical. He'd decided to bring along his handful of possessions from the Dursleys, as they would probably be confiscated by some member of the household while he was away.

So his small box of crayons, four broken, plastic soldiers, bag of marbles, candle stub and matches box, little ragged blanket that had been his favorite thing as a child (his aunt had once told him that it was the one which had been wrapped around him when he was left 'ungraciously, by those freaks your parents called friends' on the Dursley's door step; Harry liked to pretend that it was something his parents had given him), few precious ripped books, and pocket knife all went into the most recently made compartment in his trunk, fittingly named 'Dursley stuff', along with his oversized clothes that he'd have to wear next summer.

He spent a long time talking to Sebastian for what might be the last time for months, discussion ranging from everything he'd learned about snakes _("I think you might be thisss weird kind of hybrid, Ssseb, or maybe you're the sssnake equivalent of thessse metamorphmagusss people who can change ssshape at will…sssounds a bit like one of thossse fantasssy novel ssshape-ssshiftersss, except that they can only do human ssshapesss.")_ to how they'd hide Sebastian from everyone while in school _("Maybe you could jussst pretend to be a really weird necklace? And if that doesssn't work, how about a bracelet?")_.

His Aunt and Uncle, presumably delighted to get him out of the house the next day, still gave him an enormous list of chores, much to his annoyance, as he had so many better things to be doing. Due to his other obligations, he hadn't managed to finish them, and his relatives were _not amused_; throwing him in the cupboard after a rather physical lecture on laziness. He sighed. _Just one more night and then I'm gone for good…until next summer._

That night, his dreams were plagued with the normal nightmares that always happened on the day before he went back to school, except that this time, they included magical monsters, creepy, non-human teachers, and nasty peers with the ability to use magic.

:~:

September first dawned with the promise of a day far too beautiful for one that was filled with such stress, worry, and sheer terror. Harry, having gotten up at an unbelievably early hour (there was no going back to sleep when he was this nervous) showered very quickly, dressed, used that magic to hide the most obvious bruises showing around his clothes, and made breakfast for the Dursleys. He checked (and rechecked) that all his possessions were packed, put his once again shrunk trunk into his pocket along with the bag containing the remainder of his money, took one last glance in the mirror to make sure he looked presentable, scowled at his reflection, and headed outside.

He walked (trudged) a few blocks from the house, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, pulled out his wand, and brought it down in a long swish as he'd seen Hagrid do with his umbrella (maybe a disguised wand?). A long second passed while he waited in anxiety, wondering if it had worked, when…_BANG_, the large, triple-decker, purple bus appeared out of nowhere. Harry actually grinned in relief before realizing what he was doing and schooling his features back to being perfectly blank.

Eleven Sickles and a forty minute, jolting ride later—complete with the oddest people, places, and requests—and Harry was standing at Kings Cross, eyeing the barrier between platforms nine and ten and wondering if he actually had the nerve to do this.

The barrier looked very solid, and there was no indication on it whatsoever to show that it was the entrance to the wizarding platform. Just as he was about to start lecturing himself to just _do it already!_, a tall girl, looking about fifteen, wearing robes (of all things), and pushing a cart with a trunk and an owl on it, walked confidently right up to the barrier and _into_ it, never once pausing in her stride.

Harry spent a whole minute ogling before recalling himself and walking hesitantly up to the pillar. He lightly put his hand on the (apparently) solid bricks, closed his eyes, and slowly stepped forward. _One step, two steps, three steps, four ste—wait, there wasn't this much distance between myself and the wall!_

He opened his eyes and regarded the sight in front of him with awe. A shining red and black train stood next to a platform containing only a few clearly wizarding families (then again, it _was_ two hours before the train was going to depart). Harry glanced behind him, seeing a wrought-iron archway with the words 'Platform Nine and Three-Quarters' on it where the barrier had been and grinned.

_I could get to like this magic thing_, he thought, as he made his way onto the train and into an empty compartment somewhere near the back. After a quick glance around assured that there was no one in sight, he pulled his trunk out of his pocket, resized it, removed his Potions and Fungi textbooks as well as a notebook and pen, and hoisted the trunk up onto one of the racks up top (very grateful that he'd gotten the 'lighten load' feature).

He then settled down by the window as gingerly as possible—Uncle Vernon's going away present (given yesterday) had left him raw, bruised, and bleeding from shoulders to mid thigh and made sitting very, _very_ uncomfortable. He proceeded to struggle his way through the Potions textbook, attempting to understand what, in the world, it was talking about.

He got the basics—or at least the part that related to cooking—but he couldn't grasp, for the life of him, why adding once ingredient could make the whole thing explode (he hadn't had muggle chemistry yet); hence, he was reading some the ingredients and their effects in the fungi book and trying to figure out how they corresponded. _This is going to be my worst subject, I just know it._

Over the next hour and a half, the train station slowly filled to the brim. Harry occasionally glanced out his window to observe how the families interacted with one another, but for the most part, he remained focused on his notes. One very large red-haired family caught his attentions, and he shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversations.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose." The apparently youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but his mother grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.

"_Mum_—geroff!" He wiggled free.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" cooed one of his older brothers, who looked like he had an identical twin.

"Shut up!" grumbled Ron.

"Where's Percy?" their mother asked with an irritated sigh.

"He's coming now."

Another boy came striding into sight. He'd already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes and Harry noticed a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter _P_ on it.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he proclaimed breezily, "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves—"

"Oh, are you a _prefect_, Percy?" one of the twins gasped with an air of great surprise, "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," contemplated the other twin, "Once—"

"Or twice—"

"A minute—"

"All summer—"

"Oh, shut up," snapped Percy the Prefect.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" asked one of the twins.

"Because he's a _prefect_," said their mother fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term—send me an owl when you get there." She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins.  
"Now, you two—this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've—you've blown up a toilet or—"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mum."

"It's _not funny_. And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."

"Shut up," grumbled Ron again.

The boys boarded the train and Harry turned his attention back to his notes. Much to his annoyance, Sebastian decided to break a survival rule.

"_You wisssh you had a family, don't you, amigo?"_ the snake asked gently from where he was curled around Harry's neck like a necklace (for the moment—it would undoubtedly have to change soon). Harry sent him a glare and didn't reply.

_Don't talk to snakes in public_

To himself, though, he had to admit privately that he was a bit jealous of that family—actually, of all the families. _Listen to yourself,_ he mentally scolded, _You've been given a chance to start over new in an amazing world. You'll probably get enough to eat, be able to sleep, be able to actually _do_ you homework and get the grades you know you can…and here you are complaining about the one thing that even magic cannot give you. Seriously, focus on the good, not the bad! You're not the only one whose parents were killed by that psychotic maniac, so quite moping!_

Harry had finally gotten around to reading that book on himself (a very bizarre experience, truth to be told; he was glad that his section of the book had been a relatively short chapter) and figured out how his parents died. Sure, he took everything mentioned with a large dose of disbelief (_seriously, his mother's love saving him from the killing curse? This was real life, not a fantasy novel written by a romantic!)_, but all in all, he'd accepted it for the truth. This might have had something to do with everything that Ollivander guy had mentioned to him, rather than his conviction that the book was actually telling relating reality, though if everyone had been told this propaganda…

It was his easily identifiable scar that had led him to wearing his hair down that morning, but after fifteen minutes of taking notes and having it continually slide into his face, he'd finally given up and tied it back into a loose pony tail: thoroughly annoyed that his chance at disguise had been taken away, but unwilling to put up with one more second of it blocking his vision.

About ten minutes later, the train finally started moving, to Harry's annoyance and delight: annoyance, because it made it harder to write and he would undoubtedly have to put up with company very soon; delight because it meant that this was really happening, and every roll of the wheels took him further from the Dursleys.

As if on cue, his compartment door slid open and the three red heads entered. Harry glanced up slightly.

"Hey," said one of the twins, "Is it alright if Ron here sits with you?" Harry shrugged and nodded, thinking _NO, it is NOT alright_, while Ron grumbled,

"Really, Fred, I can find myself a place to sit."  
"Sorry, Ronnie, but we have to carry out our promise to Mum," the other one sighed, his voice full of fake consolation. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Oh, sorry, we forgot to introduce ourselves," the first twin exclaimed, "I'm Fred Weasley. This here is my twin George, and the little guy—"

"I'm almost as tall as you!"  
"—is our younger brother Ron." Harry sighed. _And here it comes; God, I wish I didn't have to be polite._

"Harry Potter," he said quietly, still not really looking up, more just glancing over his reading glasses and through a confounded bang of hair which had the audacity to continually slide out of his ponytail and into his face.

Sure enough, they all gawked at him, their eyes traveling instantly to his forehead. Harry fought the urge to snarl. _What am I, an icon?_ he thought with sarcastic bitterness at their focused attention, _Well, probably_, he finished cynically. As the silence began to stretch into the realm of the seriously awkward and their gaze still didn't shift, Harry felt himself turning red, despite his many attempts not to. Fortunately, the twins recovered fast, even if their younger brother didn't.

"Are you really?" Fred (he thought) asked, "So you'll be a first year like Ronnie here."  
"Yeah, nice to meet you, mate!" George (theoretically) added. Ron seemed to shake himself out of his gawking mode, although he couldn't seem to tear his eyes from Harry's scar.

"So, is it ok if I sit here?" he asked. Harry, still wanting to scream, _No it's not!_ shrugged and nodded again, and Ron slid into the compartment.

"Say Ron," George turned to his brother, "You got stuck with Mum's horrible corned beef sandwiches, didn't you?" at Ron's miserable nod, the twin dug in his pocket and pulled out a three Sickles, "Here, buy yourself something off the cart. It's decently cheep."

"Thanks," Ron said, delighted, "Where'd you get the money from?"

"We won a bet with three other third years," Fred explained, "Now, apparently Lee Jordon has managed to get his hands on a giant tarantula and we're going to go check it out. You'll be fine here, Ronniekins." He gave a faint wave and the twins vanished into from the compartment. Harry turned back to his notes, wishing he'd thought to keep out his dictionary, as he had _no_ idea what a number of these words meant, and Ron alternated between staring out the window and sneaking glances at him.

"So you're really _Harry Potter_?" he asked finally. _I knew the silence was too good to last_, Harry thought in disgust. _Now, be nice, you don't want to make kids hate you already._

"Yes," he replied shortly, hoping Ron would take the point and shut up. Either Ron ignored the hint or it was too subtle for him to pick up, because the next thing Harry knew, he was being chattered at by the red-head.

"That's totally wicked. What are you taking notes on, by the way?"

"Potions."

"Really? My brothers say that's the worst class. It's taught by an evil greasy git called Professor Snape."

"Hmm…" Harry hummed unresponsively.

"Anyway, do you remember it at all? How about You-Know-Who?" Harry shook his head, wondering what the boy meant by 'it all'. _Maybe my being cursed by Voldemort? Though if that's the case…_ "Bummer, well anyway, where do you live?"

"With muggles."

"Seriously? That's so bizarre. Aren't they just plain weird? My dad's obsessed with them, keeps bringing home all these strange gadgets of theirs from the ministry and taking them apart and all that. It drives Mum nuts, but she can't seem to stop him."

"Hmm," Harry replied, non-communicatively. Again, Ron didn't take the hint, and continued to prattle on at him about all the various members of his family.

Harry, deciding that any and all information would be helpful in the future, flipped to another page in his notebook and began jotting down the members of Ron's family and what he said about them…not that the red-head noticed.

Apparently, his compartment companion (as Harry had decided to refer to him) was the sixth boy in his family, and had a younger sister who would start school next year. Two of his older brothers had already graduated, one worked for that goblin bank Gringotts and the other worked with dragons, to Harry's (hidden) astonishment. Despite all the reading he'd done over the summer, he'd been under the impression that dragons didn't exist. He made a mental note to never assume anything about the magic world again.

Ron's oldest brother attending Hogwarts was Percy the Prefect and a prat (according to his brother). The twins were in third year, troublemakers to the point of madness, but they got good grades ("don't worry if you can't tell them apart, not even the teachers are able to do it"). Ron himself was worried about all he had to live up to, and was annoyed with his pet, a rat named Scabbers. Harry stared, wondering why the boy had a rat when it wasn't allowed at Hogwarts, but decided to drop the issue and keep Sebastian hidden.

_Don't give personal information to strangers_

Besides, he was quite sure that Ron was only talking to him because there was no one else or because he was famous. Once they met some more of their peers (_first years, had the twins called them_) then Ron would undoubtedly leave him and talk to them; if he didn't, it was just as suspicious, as it meant that Ron was only talking to him due to his fame.

Ron, completely ignorant of this critical opinion being formed about him, continued to prattle on, now about Quidditch. Harry had made the mistake (in an attempt to be polite) of admitting he had no idea was Quidditch was, and after being ogled at by the red-head for a moment, Ron began a long and complicated description of the game, how it was played, the various rules, players, balls, scoring system, different teams, professional versus just school level, and on and on.

Harry didn't mind, in fact, he was rather touched by the boy's sincere effort to make him understand (though again, he believed that it was either just for show or until someone else showed up), and had he had any interest in the subject, he would have undoubtedly paid closer attention to the description.

Instead, he jotted down the basics on yet another page of notebook paper and then returned to his potion notes, Ron's voice providing a white noise to cover the rest of the sound in the train. Ron didn't seem to mind-well, either that or he was too far into his favorite topic to realize his audience was no longer paying attention—and they spent an hour in peaceful companionship. Like all good things, though, it didn't last.

The door of the compartment slid open and a smiling older lady stuck her head in.

"Anything off the cart, dears?" Ron grinned down at the three Sickles in his hand and jumped to his feet, heading out into the corridor. Harry peeked around the door frame to see exactly what she had to eat and blinked. He was quite sure he'd never seen so much candy in his life, let alone in one place at one time. He settled back into his seat with a sigh as Ron reentered the compartment carrying an armful of sweets.

"Aren't you getting anything?" he asked around a mouthful of chocolate. Harry shook his head. There was no point in wasting his precious money on candy, though he would have dearly loved to. Yes, he did have a lot of money still in his vault, but he didn't know when he'd get back to Diagon Alley and therefore, he was going to save what little he had. He blinked when Ron proffered him a box.

"Here, have a chocolate frog. I got a lot." Harry stared before gingerly accepting the gift, all the while thinking it was a joke. However, Ron immediately turned back to his pile of sweets and Harry was left staring at the box.

"Come on, it's not going to bite you." Ron teased, "Just eat it already." Harry slowly opened the box and pulled out the chocolate frog. To his astonishment and slight disgust, it wiggled, although it wasn't as fast as a live frog would be. _Gods, these wizard people are sick. I mean, what are they thinking; giving kids candy that represents real animals and wiggles when you eat it?_

To appease Ron, he took a bite of one of the legs, and was immensely relieved to find that the frog stopped moving when he bit into it; or at least the part he bit off did. _Who came up with this idea? If animal rights people got a hold of one of these…_he finished the frog quickly, noticing that once he got over the creepiness of eating something that seemed alive, the chocolate was actually really good. It probably helped that he rarely, if ever, had chocolate.

"What card did you get?" Ron asked, from where he was bouncing on his side of the compartment. _Is he really on a sugar buzz already?_ Harry looked for the mentioned 'card' and finally pulled a trading card out of the remains of the box. It showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and a flowing silver beard and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

_So _this_ is Dumbledore,_ he thought in silent appraisal, only slightly startled when the picture winked at him. He'd read about how pictures in the wizarding world moved around, but it was one thing to read about it and another to see it. He turned the card over and read:

**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**

**CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS**

**Considered by many to be the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling. **

When he turned the card back over, the picture was gone. _Well, this is unexpected, I wonder if they all do this or if he's gone for good. Picture moving is one thing, I read about it, but there was nothing on them vanishing._ Idly, he stuck the card into his Herbology textbook to use as a bookmark and thanked Ron, before turning back to his notes and leaving his companion to devour the remainder of the candy.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door of their compartment and a round-faced boy came in. He looked tearful.

"Sorry," he said, voice quivering, "but have you seen a toad at all? His name's Trevor." Harry managed to keep his eyes from widening, remembering the toad which had hopped into the compartment an hour before the train left. He'd only just stopped Sebastian from eating it, and then had to deliver a stern lecture on not eating anything that Harry hadn't given him—as odds were, it was someone's pet. The snake had been sulking ever since. Harry decided that it was probably best not to mention this incident or the fact that he had released the toad back into the corridor.

When they both shook their heads, the boy wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," murmured Harry, hoping that Sebastian would remember his promise and not stalk him again if the toad did decide to reappear.

"Yes," mumbled the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him…" He left.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," commented Ron around a mouthful of candy, "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

The rat was still snoozing in Ron's lap.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," sighed Ron in disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work—"

"You know a spell to turn something yellow?" Harry was suddenly interested. "Where did you learn it? I've gone through most of the textbooks, but I haven't found anything on color-changing."

Ron blinked at him for a moment, seemingly mouthing 'most of the textbooks' in incredulous disbelief before shaking his head.

"George, one of the twins, gave it to me. I think it's a dud, I mean, I don't know a lot about spell or anything, but aren't they supposed to be in Latin?"

"Some," Harry continued, suddenly more cautious; it was never a good idea to make someone inferior or show more intelligence than them, "They can be in a lot of different root languages, but all of ours these days are in Latin and I don't know of any in English."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, although it did rhyme." Seeing Harry's curious look, he cleared his throat and chanted:

"_Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,_

_Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow._"

Harry choked back a laugh, and Ron looked at him again.

"Yeah, makes you wonder they're ever going to stop making fun of me. Oh well, it was brief hope and entertainment." He managed a pitiful look which had Harry silently snickering again. Just then, the compartment door slid open and a girl stuck her head in.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she declared. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron.

"Oh," replied the girl, "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron muttered. _Here we go again_.

"Harry Potter," Harry stated in a soft voice, not meeting her eyes.

"Are you really?" exclaimed Hermione, "I know all about you, of course—" _No you don't, we've never met before_, "I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

"Am I?" Harry asked sarcastically. Apparently, she didn't pick up on it.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," Hermione asserted disapprovingly. _No you wouldn't have,_ Harry thought acidly, _Or do you really enjoy or want to read about your parents' deaths over and over again?_

"Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad…Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad," with that, she left. _Well that's a way to choose a house to be in; how in the world does she know it's the best. Just because the Headmaster was in it doesn't mean anything. I hate biased people._

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron.

"What house are your brothers in?" asked Harry.

"Gryffindor," groaned Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw _would_ be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the house Voldemort was in?" Ron gaped at him.

"You just said You-Know-Who's name!" he breathed in astonishment. Harry shook his head slightly.

"I don't think that's his real name, more of a nickname. I mean, who names their kid 'Voldemort'?" Ron stared at him in disbelief.

"But you're not suppose to say it!" he exclaimed.

"Why-ever not? To not say his name it to simply add to the fear it inspires, sort of like the swastika and the Nazis."

"What?"  
"Never mind."

"Anyway," continued Ron, giving Harry an odd look and making him cringe. Great, they weren't even at school yet and he was already pushing people away. "What house do you want to be in?"

"I don't know. I read about all of them in _Hogwarts: A History_ and I like traits from all of the houses."

"You want to be in Slytherin?" Ron asked in shocked horror. Harry looked at him calculatingly.

"Would it be a problem if I was?" he asked softly. Ron blinked at him, apparently at a loss for words.

"Well, yeah. I mean, everyone expects you to be in Gryffindor and everyone knows Slytherin is all dark and their members turn out evil."

"Why does everyone think I'll be in Gryffindor?" Harry asked curiously, cautiously, though honestly confused.

"Well obviously, you defeated You-Know-Who. You are therefore the hero of the light. And light wizards come from Gryffindor." Harry made an attempt to follow this somewhat dubious logic, not really wanting to dig himself into a deeper hole with his compartment companion; however, his desire to understand won out. _Curiosity killed the cat._

"What about Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw? Are they light too?"  
"Well, yeah, but Gryffindor is the main one."

"And if I do get into Slytherin?" Harry was genuinely curious. He sometimes wanted to kill the part of him that played Devil's Advocate, as once it got started, it didn't want to stop. He didn't actually believe that he'd be in Slytherin, or Gryffindor, for that matter, as Ravenclaw fit his interests the best, but he wanted to see how far Ron was willing to go. Ron, for his part, looked absolutely horrified at the prospect of Harry being in Slytherin, but seemed to be actually making an attempt to not hurt Harry's feelings when he answered.

"Well, I don't know. I guess it would be ok. I mean, you defeated You-Know-Who, it's not like you're going to become a dark wizard. You just might have a hard time. Most of that house is You-Know-Who supporters, and they'd probably hate you." He shot a sidelong glance at Harry, "If you are in it, unlikely, I could try to stay friends with you." _WHAT? Since when were we friends?_

Harry was at a complete loss at this sudden change in direction. Seeing his expression and misunderstanding, Ron hurried on to explain, "I mean, if you don't want to, that's ok, and it would be rather hard anyway; Slytherin and Gryffindor don't get along really at all, but we could try." Harry managed to get control of his emotions for a moment and nod, causing Ron to smile shakily at him.

Harry fought to regain his equilibrium, and feeling sort of bad for upsetting Ron, he decided it would be best to get his companion (_Friend? No, not yet, not by a long shot_) chattering again. An offhand comment about one of the Quidditch dates he vaguely remembered Ron mentioning before, and the red-head was off, exclaiming about this world cup and that move, and Harry sank back into his notes with relief.

He'd never had a friend before, which was probably why he had reacted the way he had. When he was little, Dudley had bullied all the kids to keep away from him, and by this point in time, they avoided him because he was an antisocial freak (not by choice, but they didn't know that). The teachers had been no help whatsoever, either oblivious, or thinking they could solve the problem by making 'partner groups' for projects, which had only made the matter worse.

Harry really didn't know what he thought of this 'friend' idea. He was still positive that Ron would stop associating with him once they started class, and that this was either a joke or just a brief moment of entertainment for him until he had something better to do, though the red-head had seemed genuine enough. His musings (and Ron's chatter) were interrupted when the compartment door slid open again and a pale blond boy entered.

"Is it true?" he asked softly, "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you then?" Harry mentally sighed. _Is there _anyone_ who doesn't know who I am?_

"Yes," he replied quietly. The other boy eyed him appraisingly.

"My name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." Harry snickered in the back of his mind. _I wonder if wizards see movies. Honestly, Malfoy, Draco Malfoy? Cut me a break._ Ron gave a light cough, which might have been hiding a snicker, although Harry got the feeling it was for a different reason than his had been. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." He turned back to speak to Harry, but Ron, unable to take insult to his family silently, interrupted.

"Oh really, and my father told me all the Malfoys are Death Eaters and care less about incest than the Blacks." Draco wheeled around, a snarl on his face. Harry had to admit—although he was at a total loss as to why these two hated each other and why they were insistent on insulting each others families—that had been a rather good comeback. As Draco hissed another insult (about red hair) back at Ron, Harry returned to his notes. Ron seemed more than capable of defending himself, so Harry didn't feel guilty about not helping him (which he felt he would have owed to Ron due to the 'friend comment', genuine or not).

In primary school, Harry had seen enough family feuds carried out onto the playground to know better than to get involved. He sunk back into the shadows with his book and notes, zoning out the continued verbal combat, and painstakingly copied down where to find a bezoar and what in the world it did.

:~:

The sun slowly traveled across the sky and began to set. Harry paused in his note taking to watch the vivid colors outside the window, gazing at the peaceful scene which was so drastically different from what his compartment had been for the last few hours. Ron and Draco hadn't paused once in their quest to rip each other to shreds, and having finished with family background and each other's intelligence, they had moved onto Quidditch teams. Harry was privately amused to note that their two favorite respective Quidditch teams appeared to be arch rivals, giving even more fuel to the argument.

He sighed, turning from the window to his notebook again, which now not only contained Potions notes, but also information on Ron's family and Malfoy's family (he'd jotted down the tidbits of information he'd gotten from their insults—not that it would all be correct, but it was better than nothing), Quidditch (the basics, famous games, and loads on his two compartment companions' favorite teams), some of the better insults which had been thrown around, Ron's opinion on the various houses, Neville's toad's name, various landmarks they'd passed and what direction they were going at what time (ok he was paranoid and wanted to be able to find his way back if he had to. So what?), and the names of various wizarding sweets and a brief description of what they were (including a small sketch; his artistic abilities weren't that bad).

Both Draco and Ron appeared oblivious that he was taking notes on them, which was just what Harry wanted. No point in letting them know he had this information.

A tall prefect knocked on the compartment door, announcing that they would be arriving at Hogwarts shortly and telling them to change. Ron and Draco stopped snarling at each other for the first time in over two hours, and with one last glare at Ron and a rather polite nod at Harry, Draco rose from his seat and stormed out of the compartment. Ron and Harry shared a glance, helped each other get their trunks down, and took out their robes. They both pulled them on in record time, and Harry slipped his textbooks back into his trunk along with the chocolate frog box. He kept his pen and notebook out incase he needed to jot down more information. A voice echoed through the train:

"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately." Harry's stomach lurched with nerves and Ron turned pale under his freckles. They exchanged a frightened glance.

"Don't worry," Ron commented quietly as Harry reached up and pulled out his hair tie, letting his long hair fall and cover his face—especially his scar, "I don't think it's that bad." Harry graced him with a look of sheer disbelief as they exited the compartment and left the train. A lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice:

"Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere! All right there, Harry?" Hagrid's big face beamed over the sea of heads. "C'mon, follow me—any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "Jus' round this bend 'ere."

There was a loud "Ooooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its many windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. Harry had to admit to being more than impressed. _Hogwarts: A History_ might have contained pictures, but it was nothing to seeing it in person. _This is so surreal. I'm going to go learn magic in a giant castle that looks like it came out of a fairy tale and nothing like the medieval castles are suppose to. Someone pinch me._

"No more'n four ter a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself, "Right then—FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, yeh there! Is this yer toad?" said Hagrid, who what checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then, they clambered up a passageway into the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone 'ere? Yeh there, still got yer toad?" Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid politely.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She pulled the door wide, revealing the entrance hall. Harry blinked, and he heard quite a few people gasp.

The entrance hall was huge, larger than Gringotts', with stone floors and a marble staircase which seemed to lead to upper floors. The first years followed Professor McGonagall, all the while craning their necks around to try and catch a glimpse of the ceiling. Harry was torn between containing his excitement and looking at the floor or following suit and not standing out. They crowded into a side chamber, where they were able to hear the drone of hundreds of voices, but unable to see anyone.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your houses will be something like your family within Hogwarts." _I sincerely hope not,_ Harry thought, _but maybe that's just me_, "You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you; please wait quietly." She left the chamber. Harry swallowed, fighting the urge to ask how they would be sorted. Ron leaned over to comment to him.

"I think its some sort of test. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking." Harry shot him a rather disbelieving look. He was nervous, sure, but not quite _that_ nervous—to believe something like that. Next to his ear, he heard Sebastian snicker quietly and fought the urge to reply.

Instead, he glanced around at the other first years. Everyone seemed to be mumbling to whatever friend they had picked up on the train ride, while Hermione Granger was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need. Harry sighed. _Odds are we won't need the stuff in our books. I mean, honestly, I know I'm the total exception: no one else (except Hermione, obviously) has read the course material!_

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air (to his utter fury; wasn't he suppose to be able to hide his emotions?)—several people behind him screamed.

"What the—" he stared, clenching his teeth so his jaw wouldn't drop. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to by arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying:  
"Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance—"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he'd not really even a ghost, we all know the Bloody Baron is the only one able to control him in the slightest, and ever since he reappeared he's been hiding from us—I say, what are you all doing here?" A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed them. Nobody answered, to Harry's secret amusement.

"New students!" crowed the Fat Friar, smiling around at them, "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few brave souls nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know."

"Move along now," snapped a sharp voice, "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start." Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "And follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had been turned to lead, Harry slid into line behind Ron and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harry stared. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were set with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.

Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Everyone in the hall stared at the hat. It twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth—and the hat began to sing.

Harry listened to the song, absently making a note about what it said about the houses compared to what he'd read and been told; however, most of his attention was focused on the song itself, the rhyme, meter, rhythm, etc. Harry actually liked to read poetry (to the horror of his classmates), and was rather critical of it. So while he tried to absorb the message the hat was making, he was also noting that the rhythm was a bit off and the rhymes were stretched.

The song ended and the whole hall burst into applause. The hat bowed to each of the four tables and then went still. Harry could swear, in the slight silence that followed, that he heard one of the teachers behind him comment:

"Is that seriously the best it can do? I'm going to have to read it decent lyrics and poetry the next time I'm in Albus's office!" and another voice scolding in a hissed whisper,

"Leo!"

"So we've just got to try on a hat!" Ron whispered to Harry, "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll!" Harry refrained from commenting, but snickered in his head. _Yes, wrestling a troll would have been bad._ Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blond pigtails stumbled out of the line, put on the Hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause—

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Hat shouted.

The table second from the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry sighed. _Oh boy…_

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the Hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah. _I've got a bad feeling about this…_

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them. _Yes, this calling out of names is going to get me a lot of stares, I just know it._

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw, too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded in cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers cat-calling. He sighed again. _Why me? Why do I have to be 'famous'?_

"Bulstrode, Millicent" became the first Slytherin. _Maybe they won't react, I mean, they're just cheering normally for these people…_

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"  
"HUFFLEPUFF!" …_Yeah, like I believe that. Nope, I'm screwed._

"Finnigan, Seamus"

"GRYFFINDOR"

"Granger, Hermione"

"GRYFFINDOR" Ron groaned and Harry shot him a reproving glance which he totally missed. _Right, don't think about the public, think about the houses._  
"Longbottem, Neville"

"GRYFFINDOR" _Well, that's interesting…wouldn't have picked him for that house, not that I would know._

"Malfoy, Draco" the hat had barely touched his head before announcing:

"SLYTHERIN" …_Surprise, Surprise._

"Nott…Parkinson…Patil and Patil…Perks…" the names continued to tick down to his. Harry was nervous, but more for other people's reaction than what house he'd end up in. What he'd told Ron on the train had been entirely truthful: he didn't really care. However, if 'everyone' expected him to be in Gryffindor and he wasn't…

"Potter, Harry!" As Harry stepped forward, whispers broke out in the hall like little hissing fires.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the Hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. _Lovely, just what I always wanted: even more people staring at me!_

'Quite' said a small, amused voice in his ear, 'My, my: what a sarcastic mind you have. I haven't seen a first year with one developed this far in a long time.'

_Hello, nice to meet you to,_ Harry thought acidly, _Why yes, go right ahead and take a look at all my very privet thoughts. Don't mind me, I'm just here for your entertainment._

The Hat laughed. 'Oh, are you ever amusing. Reminds me of someone I used to know, back when I was made.'

_Really,_ the sudden possibilities opened up to Harry, _how long ago were you made? Who made you? Have you always sorted students?_ There was a moment of silence.

'You know, you're the first person to _ever_ have a conversation with me.' Came the startled Hat's voice.

_Oh, great. Yet another thing only I've done. Sorry._

'No, don't apologize, a healthy dose of curiosity is a good thing. Besides, the longer we sit here, the more the students will panic.'

_Yes, exactly, you'd better sort me soon. Think of the chaos._

'Ahh, but think of the fun!'

_You might have a point._

'Now, to answer your questions, I was made by Godric Gryffindor way back when the school was created. Yes, I was made to sort students, but before that, Godric had the other three Founders try me on. The one you remind me of was his best friend, Salazar Slytherin.'

_What? But according to history, Salazar and Godric were rivals._

'Oh, they were, but they were also the closest of friends. And Salazar was quite a lot like you: bitter, sarcastic, distrusting, physically and mentally hurt, disturbingly morbid, brilliant, and of course, a Parseltongue. Come up to the Headmaster's office sometime and put me on again, and I'll tell you more about them. Though don't tell anyone what I said or will say. It'll cause a general panic. Slytherin and Gryffindor are supposed to hate each other, after all.'

_Ahh, but think of the fun!_ Harry shot back.

'You catch on too fast. Now, let's see, your sorting. Hmm…my, my, sneaking a snake into the school, are we? Don't worry, I won't tell.'

_You'd better not,_ Harry snarled, _or I'll give you a bath!_ The Hat paused.

'That's the best you can come up with?'

_You don't look like you've had one in a long time. Who knows, can hats drown?_

'Point taken…you'd do well in about any house. Hufflepuff will let you make friends who will notice your home issues and help you out of them—"

_NO! No noticing!_

'Very well…I'd put you in Ravenclaw, but you'd hog the library worse than they already do and besides, you're more interested in surviving than learning.'

_Well, there goes my choice!_

'Now, Gryffindor or Slytherin, Gryffindor or Slytherin. People expect you to be in Gryffindor, you know.'

_Duh_

'Charming. Well, you certainty have a saving people complex, so you'd fit right in there…what do you say?'

_Is this thing rigged and that's the reason you're trying to put me in there? And I do so _not_ have a saving people complex!_

'…Or maybe not Gryffindor. No, the sorting is _not_ rigged, idiot! And yes you _do_ have a saving people complex!'

_And who writes your song, anyway?_ Harry had a vague idea of what was going to happen if the Hat had the nerve to put him in Slytherin—and if the entire wizarding world was going to murder him, then he was going out with a bang.

'Such morbid thoughts, kid. And I write my songs, why do you ask?'

_Well, I was just going to comment that the message was rather oddly worded to get the thing to rhyme and you should really avoid doing that. Some of the rhymes weren't even that good, anyway, and the rhythm was totally off. Have you ever considered reading a poetry book for help? I promise to bring a good one if I ever visit you…_

'Ok, that does it. Deal with the consequences, you sarcastic brat. Salazar would have been proud of you.'

"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat screamed to the hall.

There was dead silence as Harry took the Hat off, set it on the stool (maybe just a tad bit hard), and walked over to the Slytherin table, mentally grumbling about _stupid hats who can't do poetry_ and _have_ _a_ _nasty sense of humor_ and _he said Godric made him? He's got the personality of a Slytherin_ and so on and so forth.

He slid onto the bench at the end of the table (where the other first years were sitting) and idly wished everyone would stop staring at him. His expressionless mask was in place, no problems there, but the staring was getting a bit annoying. He hadn't exactly expected anyone to clap, though it would have been nice (and polite), but the ridiculously long pause was getting on his nerves. He stared fixedly at his plate.

After the silence stretched to beyond awkward, Professor McGonagall drew an unsteady breath and called out:

"Thomas, Dean", who went to Gryffindor, "Turpin, Lisa," who became a Ravenclaw, "Weasley, Ronald," who also went to Gryffindor (Harry clapped as his former companion seemed relieved), and lastly, "Zabini, Blaise," who slid into the seat next to him at the Slytherin table and shared a high-five with Draco Malfoy.

Albus Dumbledore got to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said, "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

Thank you!" he sat back down. Everyone clapped and cheered, and Harry wondered if this was who the Sorting Hat had gotten its peculiar humor from. Or maybe it was the other way around. He turned his attention back to the table and blinked.

The dishes in front of his were piled with food. He had never seen so many different foods on the table at once: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some reason peppermint humbugs. He glanced around as everyone piled food onto their plates, grimacing at the amount of meat and starch. Not that he didn't like those things, but there weren't many other options.

_Just remember,_ he informed himself silently as he spooned small amounts of food onto his plate, _You haven't eaten in a while and you don't want to get sick, so no rich stuff and only eat a little. And fruit/nutrients for breakfast tomorrow._

Aunt Petunia had always ignored the various nutrition things, but since Harry rarely ate except at school, he had to be careful to eat the right things or else he'd pass out. It had happened once and had not been pleasant (the Dursley's had been furious at having to pick him up from school, especially at the nurse's pointed questions). He sighed and began to dig into the vegetables, eavesdropping on his tablemates' conversations, which seemed to be centered on pureblood families and gossip.

"Yes I know, did you hear about the marriage between…"

"Yes, Mother is on her fifth husband now, I wonder how long before she kills him off too…"

"Only you, Zabini, could say something like that about your mother."

"What, it's true."

"Hey Draco, did you really go to Italy this past summer? How in the world did you manage to stay so pale? Hide inside all day?"

Harry zoned back out again, instead glancing up through his hair at the high table. There was the Headmaster in the center, and to his left was Professor McGonagall. Sitting next to her was another witch, and next to her was a wizard with black hair, a hooked nose, dressed completely in black, who seemed to look familiar. _I think I saw him before, once._ He appeared to be sneering at a comment made by the wizard sitting next to him, an odd, quivering man wearing an absurdly large purple turban. Hagrid sat at the very end, drinking deeply from his goblet. Going the other way were even more witches and wizards, including two younger men, who, for all appearances, were teasing the poor witch sitting between them mercilessly.

"Those two are Professors Monsel and Astley, who teach arithmancy and ancient runes, respectively. We won't be able to be in their classes until third year, but I hear they're very good." Harry fought not to jump and slowly turned to the boy who was sitting next to him, eyeing him in quiet appraisal.

"Theodore Nott, but call me Theo," he murmured, holding out his hand. Harry shook it gingerly, wondering why this boy was bothering to talk to him. "Ignore them," he added, nodding at the other first years who had been pretending Harry didn't exist. He didn't really mind, supposing that it was better than the alternative. "They're ignoring you for appearance sake. Can't be seen talking to the Boy-Who-Lived without getting a measure of you first. That's…Gryffindor-like." He added with an amused smile.

Harry simply arched an eyebrow at him, subtly cuing him to continue. Theo gave the faintest nod in silent approval. "Don't worry, they might all be stuck-up purebloods, but they're not that bad, all things considered. Ever since the Black children passed through, there hasn't really been any totally ingrained pureblood children around. They're not that bad, once you get used to them."

Harry considered this for a moment then gave a short nod and turned back to his meal, filing the information away for later. He'd read about purebloods, of course, and their feuding war with muggleborns and halfbloods (who chose one side or another in the conflict; either way, they got the low cut, not belonging to either group). According to a history book he'd read, it was this conflict that caused all the wizarding wars, ever; from the split of the Hogwarts Founders to Voldemort's reign of terror. To be honest, he wasn't quite sure where he stood in the conflict. He was pretty sure his mum was a muggleborn (because otherwise, Aunt Petunia was a squib, and she seemed to know too much muggle culture to have grown up outside of it), but he had no idea what his dad was.

_I'll have to be careful about the Voldemort stuff, too,_ he thought, _Especially if Ron was right and most of the people in this house support him, when I obviously don't. Alright, new Survival Rule: refer to Voldemort as You-Know-Who._

Suddenly, the food on the plates disappeared, and was replaced by desserts. Harry watched as an all out war started of who could get to the sweets faster. It was especially obvious at the Gryffindor table, and least noticeable at the Slytherin (but just as, if not more so, present). Harry helped himself to the fruit, which no one else seemed to want and was therefore easiest to get, and one donut, which he nibbled on, not really hungry but unwilling to leave without trying a sweet.

Privately, he admitted that he was rather astonished no one had stopped him from eating, and incredibly glad that one of Dudley's relatives had sent Dudley a book on etiquette for his birthday. Dudley had immediately thrown it away, but Harry had fished it out of the trash and read it from cover to cover. It had been incredibly dull, but at least he now knew table manners.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered." _He makes us sound like plants._ "I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." _And the Hat had the nerve to tell me _I_ was morbid._

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry stared in disbelief and noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," exclaimed Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

Harry listened to the song in horrified disbelief. The idea itself (of all singing to different tunes) was rather amusing, but he'd thought the sorting song hadn't rhymed and had bad rhythm. It was nothing on this. _The next time I talk to that Hat, I'm asking him who wrote this,_ he thought, reluctantly mumbling the words under his breath along with the rest of Slytherin. _And if it was him, we're going to have a serious conversation on poetry. Gods, this is awful!_

Everyone finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Harry mentally snickered at the sheer morbid-ness of it all.

"Ah, music," Dumbledore sighed, wiping his eyes, "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Harry followed the other Slytherin first years, careful to keep in the shadows and out of quick reach. The others seemed to be content to ignore him, except for Draco Malfoy, who shot him curious glances every once in a while. They went deeper and deeper into the school, down and down. It got a lot colder, though it was still warmer than his cupboard in the winter, so he didn't really mind. Finally, they stopped in front of a blank, stone wall. Harry noticed for the first time that they were following a tall, older year girl, who had a prefect badge on. _Pay more Attention!_

"This," she began, "Is the entrance to the Slytherin common room and dorms. The password this week is _snake pit_. The other houses change their password every month, Slytherin changes theirs every week. Inside the common room, there is a board with general notices, the current password included. No one from another house is to know where this entrance is. No one from another house is to _ever_ learn our password. Is that clear?" She spoke slowly and quietly, every word weighted with a soft threat. The first years nodded, terrified. "Good, then say it with me. _Snake pit._"

"Snake pit." The first years dutifully droned, and a concealed door in the wall rolled back, revealing a short hall. She entered and they followed.

The hall led to a large round room, with tables, chairs, filled bookcases, and a couple fireplaces with armchairs around them. The room was decorated in silver and green; the whole place was dark but managed to give off a slight comforting air: comforting as long as you didn't mean harm. It was a little intimidating. The prefect jerked her thumb at the few students lingering in the common room and they vanished through one of the passages leading out of the room. She then turned to address the first years.

"Welcome to Slytherin. This is the house infamous for ambition, secrecy, and deceit. What the world does not tell you is that we're more loyal than Gryffindor to our own." She paused for a moment to let them consider that.

"In Slytherin, you will learn many of you're peers secrets. They are NOT to leave this house without the expressed permission of that person. To break this rule is to be outcast from this house, for while you will still live here, to Slytherin, you will cease to exist. Is that clear?" They nodded.

"The dorms are split in two, the boys' dorms and the girls' dorms. The head prefects, myself and Marcus Flint, room totally separate from everyone else, to make us easier to access in the case of an emergency. Don't come crying to us over every single problem, as you are expected to solve most of those yourselves, but if you do need us, we are available at all times.

"Slytherin is a very private house. You are expected to behave in class, win any fights you get into, be polite if it is required, and have control over your emotions. It is expected that this will take some time to master, but the quicker the better for all of you. Do not, under any circumstances embarrass Slytherin.

"Professor Snape is our head of house and the Potions teacher. He's also the youngest potions master in history, so keep that in mind. Come to us before you go to him to solve your problems—although, like us, he is available at all times. Taking care of the Slytherins is his job, so if you _are_ having issues with bulling, harassment, a particularly hard class, teachers picking on you, etc, you are to go to him. Understood?" Another series of nods.

"Now, Marcus will be out in a minute to take the boys to their dorm. The girls dorms are this way." She indicated the passage off to the left. "Prefect dorms are the center passage, and the boys' are on the right. Opposite sexes will be able to get into one another's dorms, but the consequences are your responsibility. Goodnight." With that, she headed off down the left passage, the girls hesitantly following her. A tall, muscular boy exited from the prefects' dorms.

"Come on, snakes," he told the boys in a soft, deep voice, which rang with the same quiet power and warning as the girl prefect's had. They followed him down the right passage and to the last set of doors on either side of the corridor. "These are the first year boy dorms," Flint stated.

"This one," he gestured to the door on the left, "Is the smaller dorm, having room for two people. This one," now the one on the right, "Is the larger one for four. It up to you who sleeps where. You're expected to keep your dorm neat as possible, though considering you're boys and eleven at that, there really isn't much expectation of that happening. However, do try to pick it up at least once a week.

"Each dorm is equipped with a bathroom; remember, be nice and share. Blood purity doesn't mean you have top position." He added with a glance at Malfoy, who gazed innocently back. "A bell will ring every morning at six. You do not have to get up at this time, but it is the only alarm which will go off. Breakfast is at eight and classes start at nine. Goodnight." He turned and left.

The first years looked at each other—Harry a bit more warily than the others, who seemed to have known each other before Hogwarts. Draco took charge.

"Right, Vince, Greg, you two get the little dorm, you get along well enough. The rest of us will share the larger." Everyone nodded, and the two hulking boys went through the door on the left, while everyone else entered through the right.

The dorm contained four, four-poster beds with dark green, velvet curtains, and green comforters and pillowcases, all embroidered around the edge with silver snakes. Draco immediately claimed the closest bed on the left, and Blaise Zabini took the one on the right. Theodore Nott and Harry took the ones in the back corners, Harry on the left and Theo on the right. The instant they sat on their beds, their trunks appeared off to the side. Too tired to do anything else, they changed for bed (Harry pulled the curtains so no one would see the still open marks on his back) and went to sleep.

Harry lay awake for a long time, silently petting Sebastian (who he had fed when no one was looking). He'd never been in a real bed before, and the sheets were incredibly soft, the blankets thick and warm; the whole bed seemed geared to enticing him to sleep. Yet when he finally drifted off, he slept lightly, the slightest sound causing him to jerk awake. There was no way in the world he trusted his roommates.

* * *

Notes:

First of all, I know a lot of this chapter was copied straight out of the books, although some of it was changed. So yes, not all of this is mine.

Second: I don't hate Hermione. I wasn't intending for her to turn out to be a little cruel, but when I was reading the lines in the books, I couldn't help but notice she wasn't that sensitive. Don't worry, she'll change.

Ron's a little AU; he's a bit more sensitive and willing to befriend Harry. I don't know how this will turn out.

Yes, I'm aware that Crabbe and Goyle were with Draco when he entered the compartment. However, this just didn't fit my purposes, so out they went.

The sorting hat...I couldn't resist. Enough said. And yes, it'll come up later.

Thank all of you who reviewed.

Edited August 2010


	3. Lie in the Shadows

30

Chapter

"There, look."

"Where?'

"Over there, passing that group of Ravenclaws."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. Well, not quite. The Slytherins, as a whole, seemed to have temporarily decided to not communicate with him in any way, shape, or form unless absolutely necessary. For the most part, they treated him as someone they had sanctioned from contact and only stole quick, faint glances at him. Harry really didn't mind, as he was more than used to this treatment from his primary school days, and at least they were treating him like a person instead of a piece of furniture, or like he was invisible.

_Or like I'm something exotic in a zoo to be gawked at…_ he thought darkly as he hurried past another group of students, in a somewhat vain attempt to get to class on time. He absolutely hated all the attention he was getting, as it inevitably drew more attention and distracted him from his current mission: memorizing the floor plan of Hogwarts by physical (walking) experience. Yes, this might be a slightly unrealistic goal, especially for the first day of classes, but it was going to take a while and he might as well start early.

_Hogwarts: A History_ claimed that there were a hundred and forty-two staircases of all different shapes and sizes; however, it had failed to mention that most had some annoying side effects (unpredictably moving around, vanishing steps, growing steadily smaller the farther they went up…).

Then there were doors pretending to be solid walls, solid walls pretending to be doors, doors pretending to be walls pretending to be doors, walls pretending to be doors pretending to be walls pretending to be…; the portraits had an aggravating habit of going to visit each other, so that it was necessary to memorize the silhouette's location rather than the contents, and Harry would swear to anyone who would listen—at the moment nobody, as they were either too concerned with his fame, placement in Slytherin, or not talking to him—that the walls the portraits were on moved as well.

There were windows where windows had no reason to be and random suits of armor which, again, moved unpredictably and could not be counted on to remain in the same corridor, let alone same spot. The classrooms—fortunately—stayed in relatively the same place on a day-to-day basis, and were 'guaranteed' to have at least one direct route to them that _did not change_; unfortunately, all other ways of getting to the class were not guaranteed the same sanity, and could change on an hourly basis.

Breakfast on that first morning had proved to be tedious and aggravating. Harry had followed the members of his house—who were ignoring him—up to the Great Hall, and sank into a spot at the end of the Slytherin table along with the other first years. He ate as quickly and neatly as possible, working hard to ignore the other students, 98 percent of which seemed to be staring at him. The staff, sadly enough, were following the students' example—thus making the very famous first year very nervous.

After he'd finished eating (a small amount of food, the attention ruined his appetite), he pulled out a textbook and began to read, having determined from various glances around the Great Hall that reading at the table was not considered rude. Then again, this observation was obtained from a quick-glance survey of the four house tables with the results averaged together. Considering that nearly everyone at Ravenclaw was reading versus everyone but one at Gryffindor wasn't reading, this consensus may not have been the most accurate; however, since no one at Slytherin yelled at him (or poisoned him, or something of the like), Harry assumed that reading was ok. Then again, the Slytherins weren't talking to him…

_I think too much_, he grumbled to himself, before jerking in surprise as a class schedule was slammed down onto the table in front of him. His eyes jerked up to the individual who had invaded his private space—and consequently, the first person to really interact with him aside from Theo since he'd been sorted into Slytherin. However, the tall, dark, imposing man—who he correctly identified to be his Head-of-House—was already moving on, slamming down more class schedules.

Harry gazed after him for a moment, wondering what in the world had put the man in such a foul mood, before he shrugged and turned back to his class list. After a moment of consideration, he snickered. _Who was the idiot who decided it would be a good idea to place the Slytherins and Gryffindors together for Potions?_

* * *

The staff at Hogwarts was not having a good day, especially Severus Snape. Everyone had been up exceptionally late the previous night, gibbering away in the Headmaster's office about the completely unexpected and bewildering sorting of one Harry Potter (an event with had shocked and infuriated the potions master, as now he was now—horror of horrors—_responsible_ for the brat).

The Headmaster had just sat there, twinkling away, as if he couldn't be more delighted with the way things had turned out. His omnipotent view on the entire situation had more than one staff member itching to hex him and hex him badly. Fortunately for him, no one was quite willing to curse their employer, not to mention the most powerful wizard of the age (well, except Severus, but he was too caught up in shock and sulking).

Minerva had been on the verge of having puppies, so sure was she that Potter would end up in her house. Not that anyone blamed her—everyone had expected Potter to be the perfect little Gryffindor and Golden Boy, and thus everyone was up in arms about his sorting, much to the Headmaster's phoenix and the Sorting Hat's amusement.

The Hat had refused all comments, simply claimed that Harry Potter was just about as Slytherin as one could get, utterly infuriating, and if said brat ever decided to take him (the Hat) up on his offer and come up to the Headmaster's office to talk to him, the Headmaster would not do _anything_ to hinder the child. This had caused even more confusion, for the Hat _never_ wanted to talk to students before, but the Hat refused to say anything else, and thus the matter was reluctantly closed.

Unfortunately, this did not end the debate as to _why_ Harry Potter had wound up in Slytherin, a debate which raged on for quite a few hours. It covered everything from being raised by muggles ("But why would that matter? Slytherins hate muggleborns." Pomona queried) to someone he had perhaps met on the train ("No, he came in with the newest Weasley, and they're as Gryffindor as you can get. Maybe he didn't like him?" asked Aurora) to his encounter with the Dark Lord all those years ago (here, Dumbledore had injected sternly "I firmly disagree. Being in Slytherin does not make one evil". That particular idea was then dropped).

Towards the end of the debate, Sydney, Leo, and Filius had gathered around Severus and the four of them—Severus reluctantly—had discussed the possible outcomes the sorting would have with the students. Severus assured them (grudgingly, as Slytherin was a very secretive house whose members took its secrets to the grave) that Potter would not have to worry about being harmed by the Slytherins; it was the rest of the school that he was worried about.

The staff, who by this point were listening to the 'protect the brat' discussion (as Severus mentally termed it), agreed that there wasn't much they could do until the next day, where they could see the students' reactions. The staff had split for the night (or rather, early morning by this point) and Severus had scowled all the way back to his rooms, annoyed with how many problem were arising from Potter _not_ being predictable. _And Merlin forbid if he actually does one of those blasted heroics we all believe he has in him,_ he grumbled to himself.

That morning had proved to start the avalanche of breaking perceptions about Potter, who had barely touched his food and _read_ of all things throughout breakfast. Severus realized very quickly how his house had decided to handle Potter, and while he wasn't thrilled with their reaction, he supposed silence wasn't that bad, considering. The expressions on some of the students from other houses worried him, though, and he resolved to keep a sharper eye on Potter, incase anything came up. _Blasted little horror is making my year miserable already_, he groused, noting Potter's startled expression as he slammed the schedule down in front of him. Oh, yes. This was going to be a bad year.

* * *

The classes themselves, once Harry found them, were absolutely fascinating. They studied the night skies every Thursday at midnight, learning the position of the stars, the constellations, and the magic that resulted when certain ones lined up with others. Harry entertained himself by mentally comparing muggle astronomy to wizardry, and came to the realization that, while the muggles might not know the magic created by a-lined constellations, they were far more knowledgeable about how the universe worked and what it was made up of.

Three times a week, the Slytherins and Ravenclaws trekked out to the green houses and learned the properties and care of various bizarre plants and fungi from Professor Sprout. This class was one of Harry's easiest, as his extensive knowledge of gardening (courtesy of the Dursleys) was extremely useful. He'd also read the Herbology textbook so many times (in a vain preparation for Potions) that he could tell at a glace which plants were poisonous and which plants merely caused you to giggle for hours on end by breathing in their scent.

History of Magic—taught by a genuine ghost—was universally considered the most boring class in Hogwarts. Every student in every house struggled in vain to stay awake, struggled to stop their eyes from drooping lower, and lower…and lower…

Harry, on the other hand, was one of the very few students who didn't have a problem staying awake—though he could have easily slept if needed.

The instant he had sat down in that class for the first time and heard the ghost's monotonic drone—pitched at the perfect frequency to send even the most die-hard students to la-la land—Harry had realized that this class would call for drastic measures. He'd pulled out his History textbook (which was not boring at all and very entertaining to the muggle-raised student) and read for the entire period, focusing most of his attention on tuning out the ghost's drone so as to stop the _sleep…sleep…sleep _waves from hitting him. Thereupon, every History class Harry would spend reading and studying the magic world's history and culture.

Charms, with Professor Flitwick, was Harry's favorite class. The tiny professor thoroughly understood and loved his subject, and this enthusiasm bubbled over onto the students. Even the Slytherins, who didn't like anyone other than their head-of-house, considered the professor 'decent'—a high compliment. Harry loved Charms; he could perform them with practiced ease and understand the theory and reasoning behind them. Furthermore, Flitwick—unlike all the other professors—treated him like any other student…with the exception of the first day of class, where the little wizard had been so excited by reading Harry's name on the roll call that he'd toppled off of his pile of books.

Professor McGonagall was not a teacher to cross, as the two trailing Slytherin boys found out (Harry had, fortunately, made it to her class before the bell). She was very strict, but very fair, and laid out the rules for the year (and years to come) the moment they all sat down. She was also a cat animagus. This little detail, dropped when she transformed from a tabby cat on the desk into her usual wizarding self at the start of the class, seemed to pass right over his classmate's heads. The Slytherins were too busy analyzing her speech to see what they could get away with without being thrown out of the class, and the Hufflepuffs were too busy being terrified of the potential of being thrown out of class if they did something wrong.

Harry was neither of these: he had no intention of causing trouble, and he wasn't worried that he'd be thrown out. Rather, he was fascinated by the possibility of animal transformations, and resolved to look up any information as soon as possible. The class itself was very difficult, but Harry found it refreshingly challenging and thrived, though he made sure that Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zambi managed to transfigure their matchsticks into needles before he did.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, which he (and everyone else) had really been looking forward to, turned out to be a bit of a joke. The classroom smelled strongly of garlic and Professor Quirrell's stuttering proved almost impossible to translate. What Harry did manage to understand did not improve his opinion of the course, as it was almost recitation from the textbook or information that held little fact. He also intensely disliked the class as he left every time with a blinding migraine.

Harry had no real idea as to why this happened, but he'd cooked with garlic enough to know that is was not from the smell. This unexplainable problem left him very troubled, for—though he wasn't superstitious—he did believe that reoccurring things happened for a reason, and if he couldn't find the reason (especially when it was hurting him), well…his paranoid nature, ingrained to survive the Dursleys, was screaming warnings, and Harry paid attention. If anything else happened, he would do something about it.

Potions, at the end of the week, was by far the most confusing class, but also gave Harry the greatest sense of accomplishment. The accomplishment was easily explained: he didn't blow up his cauldron, brewed a good potion (though it wasn't perfect), and actually understood the connection between the ingredients that resulted in the final product (thanks to the extensive Herbology reading he'd been doing). This alone should have had him on a high that would have lasted the rest of the weekend, as he had been so convinced that he would epically fail. It probably would have, too, except for the sheer bewilderment that affected him every time Professor Snape spoke.

The class began with roll call, and Professor Snape paused at his name.

"Ah, yes," he murmured softly, "Harry Potter. Our new—_celebrity._" The class was filled with muffled silence: the Slytherins stifled their snickering in a misplaced show of house loyalty, and the Gryffindors were too bewildered at another reminder that Harry Potter was _not_ in their house to react to this animosity.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," the professor began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word. Harry wondered if the Slytherin prefects had learned this form of speech from their head-of-house.

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe that this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…" _Oh, he really loves potions. However, I don't believe that his enthusiasm will spill over onto the students like Professor Flitwick's does._ "I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry observed the other students' reactions with internal amusement. The Gryffindors were gazing at the professor in pure terror—well, except for one brown haired girl (Granger, he remembered) who was perched on the edge of her seat in her eagerness to prove she was _not_ a dunderhead. The Slytherins were snickering silently at the Gryffindors and trading smug glances—but Harry had a feeling that this class would be just as difficult for them.

"Potter!" the potions master snapped suddenly, "What would I get if I added powered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry blinked, and the Gryffindor girl's hand shot up in the air. _Ok, think, you can do this. It's two ingredients, so that's Herbology. Asphodel, asphodel, asphodel, asph…right, it's generally associated with the underworld and afterlife. And wormwood…is a symbol of bitterness. So maybe a poison? But I doubt that they would teach us poisons in school, so something to make you appear like you're dead? Like that potion in 'Romeo and Juliet'?_

"A sleeping potion that gives the appearance of death, sir," Harry answered firmly, remembering a less important survival rule.

_Don't answer questions with questions._

The Slytherins turned around and stared at him in blank astonishment. The Gryffindors grumbled something about 'know-it-all' and 'teacher's pet', and the Granger put her hand down with a disappointed expression on her face. _Wait, I got it right?_ The only sign of disbelief from the professor came in the form of a quick blink, but he fired off another question before Harry could analyze what this meant.

"Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

The Gryffindor girl nearly shot out of her chair in her desperation to answer the question. _Right, I remember reading about this. Think of it as Herbology again. A bezoar is a stone used to cure poisons…but where is it found? Somehow I don't 'in your potions supply' is the right answer. Let's see…it was on that page with that picture…half way down the page, second paragraph…third sentence…'in the stomach of a goat'._

"In the stomach of a goat, sir."

Again, the surprised gaze from the Slytherins and the Gryffindor grumbles. Astonishment flared in the professor's piercing black eyes, but was gone in an instant.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Ah, this one he knew.

"They're the same plant, sir." _And it's also called aconite,_ he thought, but didn't add out loud. From the Slytherins' expressions, he had already answered questions that he should not have known the answer to; there was no point in drawing more attention to himself and his knowledge. It was a survival rule.

_Better to be underestimated_

The rest of the period passed in similar style. They were partnered to make a simple potion to cure boils. Harry's partner, Tracy Davis, sized him up, and then proceeded to ignore him save for when she needed an ingredient, at which point she resorted to hand-signals and glares. They made a rather good teem: Harry dealt with the weighing of dried nettles and crushing snake fangs—and he got a slight twinge out of the last part, thinking of Sebastian—while Davis added the ingredients and made sure their potion didn't blow up.

The professor stalked around the room, peering over shoulders and constantly criticizing the Gryffindors. He didn't say a word against his snakes, but sent poisonous glares towards any whose potion was less than worthy. Surprisingly, Harry was not one of those people—probably due to Davis's efforts, though he did deal with the ingredients exactly as the book said to—and he was just bottling the finished product when a loud hissing and billowing green acid filled the dungeon.

One of the Gryffindor boys had somehow managed to melt his and his partner's cauldron, and the concoction was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in everyone's shoes. Within seconds, the entire class was perched on their stools and desks, rather like terrified birds observing a cat, in Harry's opinion. Not that he wasn't doing the same. Self preservation ruled over image, after all.

"Idiot boy!" the professor snarled at the Gryffindor, who was covered in angry red boils. He cleaned up the spilled potion with a wave of his wand. _I need to learn how to do that,_ Harry thought in awe. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire? Take him up to the hospital wing," he ordered sharply as boils began to pop out over the boy's nose.

The two boys left and the potions master snarled at the Gryffindors for not watching out for their classmate. He took a conspicuous amount of points—which garnered mumbled protests from some—and stalked back up to his desk. His dark glare had the students leaping off their desks like startled lizards who have been disturbed from their sun-soaked rock and they scurried back to bottling and cleaning.

Harry passed the bottled potion to Davis and she swept up to the front of the room to place it on the professor's desk. It wasn't that he couldn't perform the task himself, he simply believed that if Davis—a proper Slytherin who was suppose to be in Slytherin—carried it, there was less of a chance that an _accident_ would occur (and boy, did he know about _accidents_. Walking to the front of the room when one is an outcast is similar to running the gauntlet: tripping over suddenly present feet, books, and legs; water bottles that just happen to be open and waiting for another student to _accidentally_ spill just as he walked past—soaking him and, consequently, his homework; wads of paper being thrown; shoves, pushes, pinches, slaps…yes, he was more than familiar with _accidents_).

The class ended soon after, and the first years filed out of the room like frightened wildlife—Harry was rather impressed with the professor's intimidation tactics. _No wonder everyone in the school is terrified of him_, he thought, _He starts when we're first years, and by the time we can actually fight back, he's ingrained that terror into us so we won't. Utterly brilliant!_ He had a feeling that this sentiment wasn't shared by any of his classmates, but he didn't care. It wasn't as if they were talking to him anyway, and he fully intended to take advantage of this opportunity to learn about crowd manipulation.

:~:

The weekend passed with relatively little to note. Hagrid had invited Harry down to his hut—an offer which he quickly accepted—and they spent a pleasant hour conversing about Harry's parents. Hagrid, in his enthusiasm to have a guest, had actually made rock cakes, and Harry soon determined that Hagrid's rock cakes were far more like the element they were named after (in taste, consistency, and color) than the ones he'd made for Aunt Petunia's tea parties.

The direct result of this was Harry practicing an odd skill which he had thought he would never need: reverse slight-of-hand. Instead of flitching food, as he did with the Dursleys, this form was intended to get rid of food without Hagrid noticing. Thankfully, Hagrid wasn't a great observer by any stretch of the definition, and Harry had it down to an art by the end of the hour.

On his way out the door (pockets full of rock cakes), Harry noticed a newspaper clipping featuring a theft in Gringotts. He managed to snatch it off the floor while saying good-bye to Hagrid and Fang—Hagrid's enormous black boarhound who had spent Harry's entire visit drooling on his robes. Harry tucked the clipping into his pocket and waved to Hagrid, promising to return and talk more—a promise he fully intended to keep as Hagrid was the only person he'd spoken to outside of class since the first day.

He headed over to the lake where he proceeded to empty his pockets of rock cakes (figuring that the giant squid he'd read about might like them and the water _may_ soften them enough to be digestible). Then, sinking down by a tree, he pulled out the clipping and read.

**Gringotts Break-In Latest**

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

Harry blinked at the oddness of the article—mainly the vocabulary (_spokesgoblin?_). He made a mental note that Gringotts wasn't as safe as previously advertised and shoved the matter to the back of his mind, though not before deciding to order a newspaper.

That had been Friday, and by Saturday afternoon, Harry—though he couldn't believe he would think this—was bored out of his mind. He'd read all of his books, done all of his homework, practiced with his quill, tried to research spells which would allow his to talk to Sebastian without his classmates overhearing, etc.

He'd taken to exploring parts of the castle, being exceptionally cautious as many people were mad at his house arrangement and it would be a bad idea to be caught roaming alone without an escape route. Still, that was the point of roaming the castle—to find escape routes. So far, he'd discovered numerous secret passages (mainly in the dungeons); odd doors that led to no longer used classrooms; and the occasional staircase which went to a random turret which—due to the amount of dust—must not have been used for ages.

:~:

Harry's worry about being attacked in the corridors was not unsubstantiated, as he found out early Sunday morning. He had been walking along on the second floor enjoying the peace and quiet of the very early morning—as no student in their right mind would be up early on a Sunday. Thus, it was with a great deal of surprise that he heard three sets of footsteps walking down the corridor.

Whoever it was must have caught sight of him, for the sets of footsteps paused momentarily before continuing towards him in a heavier, determined pace. Harry continued walking, mentally running over possible scenarios, as he more than recognized the change in gait. _It's exactly how Dudley and his gang would act when they caught sight of me. And I still have no clue how to defend against magic!_ He was interrupted from his thoughts by a voice calling his name.

"You, Potter!" Harry turned slowly and regarded his pursuers. _Hmm, three tall guys…looks like they're six or seventh years…blond and two brunettes. Two Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw…just my luck, the houses unite against me. Oh, and look. They now have me cornered against the wall. Why didn't I run when I had a chance?_

"Can I help you?" Harry asked politely, as if he was completely unaware as to their reason of approaching him. The blond Gryffindor sneered and stalked forward.

"You're a miserable little traitor, aren't you Potter," he growled softly. Harry took a step away from the wall so he wouldn't be pressed against it and began looking for escape routes. _If I could only get one of those two hulking idiots on the sides to move…_ "That's why you were sorted into Slytherin. You're planning on being You-Know-Who's greatest supporter." _No, I don't know who…ok, focus,_ "I bet you like torturing muggleborns and the like. You're going to betray us all, so we're going to stop the problem before it can start."

He raised his wand, but Harry was already moving, dropping to the ground as fast as he could to avoid the red spell. Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough, and the _diffindo_ curse caught him across the back, slicing open his robes and skin is a diagonal line from right shoulder to opposing hip. Harry ignored the sting as he rolled forward and bowled into his attacker's knees, sending his opponent sprawling to the ground. He sprang back up and glanced at the other two boys, both who were staring at their fallen comrade in shock—apparently, they hadn't expected him to fight back.

Harry took off sprinting down the corridor, a bright yellow curse whizzing past his head. He stumbled a bit as a second curse hit his back, causing angry boils to break over his body. He swore furiously in his mind, but kept running—dashing around bends, up stairs, down more corridors, all the while hearing his pursuers pound along behind him. Fortunately, Harry was very fast and thanks to all the practice from Dudley, he could outrun most people even when injured.

While he ran—with no particular destination in mind save to get away—he cataloged his options. _Can't exactly go to the hospital wing as I have no idea where that is…honestly, why don't they give us a tour of the castle? Besides, if I went there, they'd want to know why I was hurt and there are charms to detect lying. I think people hate me now, how much worse will they hate a tattle-tale? And it's not like I know any healing charms myself. I could just try to bandage it, but…_

He sped up another staircase and down the main corridor. Seeing a large set of double doors on the right side, he darted to them, slipped in, and closed the door quietly behind, leaning against it. He listened to his pursuers thunder past and let out a small sigh of relief. Then, he turned and observed the room he had entered, his mouth dropping open in shock and joy.

It was an ironic parallel to another time when Harry had been running from his cousin and seeking a hiding place, only to stumble into his own, unique form of paradise. Now, as then, he sent a silent thanks to the Gods of whatever religion which had thrown _this_ into his path. He slowly stepped away from the door and began to wander through the ceiling-scraping shelves filled with books in Hogwarts' enormous library.

_Dear _God_! I'm going to be occupied forever! How long is it going to take me to read every book in here?_ He wandered around is a state of bliss for a while, momentarily forgetting the cut and boils adorning his back—until he bumped into a shelf. Then, pain and the thought of _Oh, I bet they have books on healing in here. That would solve my problem nicely!_ It was time to search.

From experience, Harry knew better than to ask the librarian for help. Not that the librarians were unhelpful, but when he was in this state of injury, they tended to ask uncomfortable questions and make life a great deal more difficult for him. Thus, Harry was left to figure out the organizing system on his own—a rather demanding task as he had no idea how wizards organized their books.

It was a good half hour before he finally found the healing charms he was looking for. He'd discovered the history section (definitely something he was going to look in to), the school books section (maybe he could research higher-year spells), transfiguration, biographies, potions (a must memorize every book section), charms, magical creatures, and languages.

He had only covered a small portion of the library, and desperately wanted to continue to roam around looking for more books, but he really needed to heal himself. Thus, he searched through the books on healing spells, took down a couple that looked promising, and carried them over to a small table completely hidden in a corner. He browsed through the spells—rather annoyed that wizards hadn't invented indexes yet—until he finally found one that could cure his cut problem.

_Episkey_—he read—_heals and repairs damage. Good for using against slicing spells. WARNING: do not attempt to use on potion ingredients; the magical residue will be problematic to the potion. Make sure that nothing is touching the wound that you don't want in the final result. _Harry quickly read the instructions and followed the pronunciation and wand movements. He then ripped a small piece of paper, pointed his wand at the rip and intoned "_Episkey._"

The paper caught on fire. Harry frowned, ripped another piece of parchment in half and tried again. "_Episkey._"

This time, instead of just catching on fire, the paper exploded violently—though without a sound. _If I could reproduce these effects…hold that thought, first I really need to get this spell to work._ He tried it a few more times, resulting in the parchment being soaked with water, burned again, shredded into tiny bits, shooting upward and floating (_this isn't a levitation spell!_), etc.

Fed up, he scowled darkly at the parchment, grumbling under his breath. He pointed his wand at the two pieces of ripped paper and hissed—not in parseltongue— "_Episkey!_" glaring at the offending parchment and wishing with all his might that _the bloody spell would work for the sake of grace!_.

The two pieces of paper joined seamlessly together.

Harry ogled at the result for a long moment. Then, he ripped the paper in half and tried again. Same result. _What in the world am I doing differently?_ he wondered in disbelief, ripping and seaming the parchment over and over again. _Hmm…will look into this later. Let's try with a paper cut now._ He slid his index finger along the edge of the book, resulting in a deep, rather painful paper cut—although due to the annoying pain in his back (boils and cut) he barely noticed it. Then, screwing up his face in courage (after all, the spell had set the paper on fire the first time), he pointed his wand at his finger and hissed "_Episkey!_"

The cut healed. It hurt—a lot—but the end result was a tiny line that looked as if he'd gotten the paper cut a week ago. _Bloody wicked! I so wish I could have figured this out at the Dursley's. Ahh, well, now I just have to figure out how to do it wandlessly, and then I can use it next summer._

He gave himself another cut and healed it again. Then, with a glance around to make sure no one was anywhere near him, he slithered out of his ruined robe and shirt, shivering in the chill air. He glanced over his shoulder, craning his neck to observe the mess called his back and sighed. _Hope I don't need to see it for the spell to work,_ he thought to himself, twisting his arm around his back and aiming his wand. "_Episkey!_".

Harry winced as pain flared along the cut, frowning a bit when he noticed that it healed, but not as well as the paper cut. _Hmm, try again?_ "_Episkey!_" Again the pain, and he noticed that it was—at least—no longer bleeding. Taking this to be a sign of a job well done, Harry congratulated himself and turned to his ruined clothes. He was still covered in painful boils, but they were not life threatening, and he needed to put his shirt (and robes, as his shirt was white and covered in blood) back on.

Harry stretched out the ruined clothing on the table and drew his wand down the slash, intoning the spell yet again. The clothes stitched themselves together as if they had been well mended, a tiny seam forming where they'd been ripped—though if examined closely, this mending mark showed no sign of stitches. Harry donned the clothes again and went back to researching the spells in his books, looking for a cure for boils. _Pity I didn't bottle any extra of that potion we made on Friday. It would have been a great deal of use right now. Thinking of which, I need to add finding a place to brew potions to my to-do list. Can't rely on a good partner to straighten me out every time_.

His browsing though the healing books turned up no decent ways to heal boils besides the potion, much to his annoyance. _What's the point of magic if it can't heal? Though, they might just not have it in these books…maybe it's a dark spell? But why would a healing spell be dark? According to the current ministry definition of dark magic…Stop, focus, must find healing spell._

Unfortunately, Harry's need for the spell did not seem to outweigh the fact that a boil-cure spell simply didn't exist. The best option he had found was the _Finite Incantatem_, which stopped current spell effects. The problem, though, was the boils might actually _be_ boils by this time (as in they were really there, and not just a spell imitating their effects).

Still, after long deliberation, Harry decided to risk it. It was almost lunch by this point, and although the rest of the school didn't know how to act around him, he knew he would be missed if he didn't show up. And it would _not_ be a good idea to turn up at lunch covered in boils. It would cause no end of chaos, as well as show a weakness in front of the Slytherin house. Furthermore, it would send the message to those who had attached him that he wouldn't speak up about it, and couldn't take care of the problems himself.

Pointing his wand at yet another scrap of paper, Harry murmured "_Finite Incantatem_."

The paper didn't change at all—not that Harry was expecting it to, as it had no current spells on it. However, it didn't blow up, and that was a hopeful sign.

Next, Harry tried the spell on a small piece of fabric, which produced the same hopeful signs of no change. He really wished he had an enchanted something to practice on, but this would have to do. Then, drawing a deep breath and screwing up his face in courage (just because the spell hadn't caught anything on fire yet didn't mean it wouldn't), Harry pointed his wand at the boil on the back of his left hand and intoned the spell, praying that nothing bad would happen and that the boil would go away.

Fiery pain lanced up his arm as the boil bubbled and oozed itself back into his hand, leaving unblemished skin in its wake. Harry took this as an encouraging sign, took of his robes and shirt again, and whispered the spell again, running his wand up his arm, across his shoulders (pointing down his back) and down his right arm. He doubled over a second later, biting his lip to prevent himself from making any noise.

Pain burned its way along his body, the boils disappearing but at the cost of agony. It wasn't by any means the worst pain he'd ever felt, however, it had the unusual aspect in that he'd done this to himself. _Oh well…I hope that this isn't going to really mess up my body at some future point in time_. With a sigh of relief, he rose and donned his clothes—_For the second time, this is getting annoying_—before replacing the books back on the shelf and making his way to the front of the library.

Unfortunately for Harry, he had been so occupied with finding healing spells (or rather, the healing section of the library) that he was completely lost in the winding, dark, bookshelves. The front of the library seemed to be organized in neat rows (or it had seemed so to him as he walked in), but the farther one went back, the more meandering, unorganized, and mazelike the arrangement of bookshelves became. Ten minutes later and thoroughly fed up, Harry was ready to admit defeat. He was in yet another tiny, enclosed dead end and he was convinced that overall, he was going deeper into the library, rather than out. With a deep sigh, he turned around and started to backtrack for the umpteenth time. Suddenly, a book snagged his attention, and he paused to pull it off the shelf.

The book was small (only about 200 pages thick) and bound in black, slightly frayed fabric (which is what had caught his eye, as almost all the other books in the library were bound with leather). Blowing off the grey dust, Harry blinked at the odd red symbol embossed on the front cover and, shaking his head, opened to the title page. What he read caused his mouth to fall open.

Wands, Words, Spells?

An Complet Studiare of Magyk Theoria

Bi

Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin

Wið healp fram

Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor

_ What the Hell!_ Harry thought in utter disbelief. His eyes took in the names of the Founders and the Old English spelling, and he blinked in shock. _The Founders never wrote any books! It says so in _Hogwarts: A History._ So why am I holding a book supposedly by them in my hand and why, if it really is by them_ (and he would know, he'd torn Flourish and Blots apart looking for anything by the Founders)_ doesn't anyone know about it?_ Dazed, he idly paged through the book, making a mental note to see if Hogwarts had an Old English to Modern English dictionary, as he didn't know a third of the words. Suddenly, he frowned.

_For a book that looks to be only 200 pages, I've paged through a lot…_he thought, glancing at the page number. 753…_What!_ As the pages continued to flip past his thumb, he noticed that there seemed to be no end to them. _What in the world…well, magic, obviously. As for why…I suppose paper was rather rare back in the 900's, so I guess conserving paper was the best idea. Goes to show how wizards have mirrored muggles, though. Both are terribly wasteful in this day and age…focus! _

Cradling the book reverently to his chest, Harry slowly walked traced back his steps around two twisty curves and took a right (where he had previously turned left). Five steps and another turn and he froze.

_No f—ing way!_ He stared at the straight rows of shelves, through which he could clearly see the front desk and the doors leading out. His mouth open in shock, Harry glanced over his shoulder back the way he had come, only to find a solid wall of books. _What in the name of God…_ he blinked in complete disbelief, glancing down at the book in his arms and then back at the nonexistent passage way, swallowing hard.

_It almost lends to the idea that the library _wanted_ me to find this book…but that's ridiculous. Alright, alright…yes, magic exists, and thus anything is possible. _Hogwarts: A History_ does discuss rumors that the castle is part sentient, but that book made it very clear that they were only rumors, and not true at all. _

_This though, this would imply that the castle was not only sentient, but doing something about it! A thinking, moving castle…but even if this it _is_ sentient, why would it pick _me _of all people to show this treasure to? Aside from the absurd fact that I survived a killing curse, there's nothing special about me…yes, this idea is completely nonsense._

Still, on the off-chance that his assumption was correct, Harry decided it would be a bad idea to insult the castle and not show proper appreciation; so, very slowly (and after glancing around to make sure no one was watching), he bowed to the solid bookshelf and murmured a near silent "Thank you". The bookshelf twitched. Harry, completely freaked out by this point, bolted—in a dignified way—towards the check-out desk. He could swear he heard soft laughter echoing behind him.

Eyes wide and trying desperately to control his breathing, Harry slid the book over the counter to Madam Pince. To his astonishment, she didn't even glance at the book, just marking that he had checked it out before handing it back to him. _It's almost as if she can't tell what its abo…no, stop that train of thought. I am _not_ going to contemplate the weirdness of this situation anymore._

Gathering up his courage—the librarian was _scary_—Harry asked for an Old English-Modern English dictionary. With a sniff of distain, Madam Pince left to get one from the reference shelves, depositing it in his arms (and causing him to almost drop it, the thing was huge) with a dire threat to bring it back in pristine condition.

He quickly agreed, then asked her very, very carefully if she could possibly shrink it so he could carry it around easier. The librarian acquired an outraged expression at the thought of desecrating one of her precious books in such a way, but with great reluctance, she complied with his request. Harry sighed in relief and slipped the now palm-sized dictionary (which probably only held one definition per page) into his pocket. The Founders' Book was placed in a larger slot on the inside of his robe (which he had sewn there for precisely this purpose) and Harry slipped out of the library, memorizing the route so he could return there after lunch.

:~:

The second week of school passed in similar fashion as the first, though it included more fights, more healing spells, and Harry spending every free second of his time in the library. He was researching wards (as he found magical barriers were called). He needed to find some way to communicate with Sebastian without his housemates hearing him, and thus he spent hours upon hours looking up various way of creating silence wards.

His subsequent notes were highly detailed—he often got distracted by some fascinating spell, and the process probably took longer than it would have had he been completely focused—and the first non-class spell (aside from healing) which he learned was the same one that was on the Founders' Book: it expanded books without using more paper.

Harry had no real idea of how, exactly, this worked (it would have made more sense to simply have all the paper and then make the final product appear to use fewer sheets), but that was a research project for another day. As for the wards, he learned multiple spells which would achieve the effect he wanted, as well as mathematical diagrams, rune carvings, potions (this one he reluctantly set aside—there was no way he was that good with them yet), and a wide array of other forms of magic.

Aside from his research projects and the frequent bullying, the second week was marked on the calendars as it was the first years' flying lesson. Harry was looking forward greatly to flying (although he had been slightly amused to see that the same idiot who had scheduled Potions with Gryffindor and Slytherin had decided it was a good idea to do the same with flying—he couldn't wait to see the number of injuries resulting from this expenditure), as he had always wanted to fly, but he was slightly nervous about the increased chance of his getting injured due to house rivalry.

Ron, the red-head he had met on the train, had not spoken to him since he had been sorted into Slytherin. Harry wasn't really expecting any differently, though it would have been nice to have a friend as well as see that wizards were more open and accepting than muggles. The young Gryffindor had taken to sending small, bewildered glances at him whenever they were in the same room together; glances which at first had been hurt, and then slowly evolved into a slightly calculating expression, as if Ron was trying to figure out why Harry had wound up in Slytherin.

Any other person would have taken this as a hopeful sign that perhaps Ron would accept them as a friend again, but Harry refused to allow himself to be hurt, and thus crushed that hope at the roots. Still, the Weasley was doing an admirable job of analyzing the situation, and maybe there was hope for him in the future.

It was three-thirty in the afternoon on a Thursday when the Gryffindors finally joined the already present Slytherins for their first flying lesson. Harry was thoroughly fed up with his housemates by this point—not that he would ever show it—as they had spent the entire week since the flying notice went up bragging about their supposed Quidditch feats. Harry hoped that this lesson would put a stop to the bragging until next year, when they would be trying out for Quidditch.

Madam Hooch arrived and the lesson began.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "And say UP!"

"Up," Harry murmured under his breath, while everyone else shouted. To his complete surprise, the broom jumped to his had at once—one of the few that did. Harry winced at the speculative look Malfoy (one of the other successful ones) sent his way; had he known that the broom would leap to his hand on the first try (while everyone else's didn't), he would never have murmured that word.

_So much for hiding in the shadows…now I really have to focus on down playing the situation. Reign in my excitement and make sure Malfoy and the others are way better_.

Madam Hooch, after a while of walking around and helping everyone finally get their brooms up, showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips (Harry did his best not to flinch when she grabbed his wrist. He'd been stalked again by the seventh years, and had a nasty burn that he hadn't figured out how to heal yet).

She informed Malfoy and most of the other purebloods in Slytherin that they'd been doing it wrong for years. Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of this, as when she walked away, Malfoy complained (quietly) to Zabini that she was narrow minded and obviously didn't like other styles of Quidditch. The Gryffindors, though, appeared delighted with this insult.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—"

But one of the Gryffindors, who appeared to be more nervous and jumpy than the others, left the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but the Gryffindor was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle—twelve feet—twenty feet. Harry saw his scared, white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and—

WHAM—a thud and a nasty crack and the boy lay facedown on the grass in a heap. Harry winced in sympathy, _Definitely broken bones in that fall_. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the Forbidden Forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over the boy, her face as white as his. Not that Harry blamed her—teachers, after all, were suppose to prevent accidents such as these. Plus, if this place worked the same way as the muggle world, she'd have a nasty load of paperwork to do before things got cleared up.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter, "Come on, boy—it's alright, up you get." She turned to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

The boy, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him. Harry stared after her in blank astonishment—had he been any less of a mask artist, he was sure his mouth would have been hanging open.

_So let me get this straight. We have two groups of students who have been taught to hate each other's house from birth, not to mention that we're eleven years old and thus incapable of following the simplest instructions. And you, the only supervisor out here, just leave the rest of us standing with instruments that could very well cause serious injury and nearly _dare_ us to fly on them? _

_Gods, at least Professor Snape had the sense to send some other student with the Gryffindor to the hospital wing—it wasn't like he left the classroom at any moment. And in that class, we were all so terrified of him it is doubtful we would have done anything if he _had. _But now_…

Here, Harry eyed Malfoy and Ron, who looked as if they were getting into an intense argument over something the Gryffindor had dropped. _ No, this definitely wasn't a good idea. I'm going to just sit down, take out my book, and ignore what is going on around me. Sure, flying would be fun—but I'm not going to risk having to go back to the Dursleys because of it!_

Thus having decided, Harry sat down by his broom (which was at the very end of the line, making him all the easier to ignore), reached into his robe pocket, and pulled out the Founders' Book.

Ignoring the argument between Malfoy and Ron as it grew steadily louder (and somehow went from small glass objects to family insults, to Quidditch—not that Harry was surprised, he'd spent a whole train ride with these two), Harry flipped to the first chapter of the book, having finally finished the introduction the previous night. Tuning out his classmates, though keeping an eye on them to make sure he knew what was happening, Harry began to slowly puzzle his way through the arcane language of the first paragraph.

The reading of the Founders' Book was going very slow. After the first three day of spending all his free time reading it—firmly cementing his reputation as a bookworm in Slytherin and at meals—Harry decided he had to make up a schedule. He couldn't neglect his other classes, Potions in particular, and his research projects simply because he'd found something more interesting and far harder to read.

He devoted most of his evenings to studying for various classes and doing homework (the day it was assigned, not the day it was due), his lunch and dinner times were for reading his Potions book, but all the rest was for his research—which, at the moment, was this book.

Unfortunately for Harry, while he'd learned the basics of French and German when in school, he'd never studied Old English (or anything remotely like it). Thus, the book was extremely difficult to read, as he had to rely on the dictionary not only for the vocabulary (of which he knew next to none, except for those words that remained the same up till now) but also for the small grammar notes. _At least,_ he though with relief,_ the person who wrote it spelled things consistently and maintained the same form of grammar—it would make it so much harder if they hadn't_.

Absorbed in his readings, Harry was more or less oblivious to the drama of the surrounding students and the fact that Ron and Malfoy were no longer on the ground, having decided to continue their argument in the air (both had long since forgotten about the glass object).

He missed Professor McGonagall storming out onto the lawn and screaming at the two boys to come down, and he disregarded her furious lecture, hauling both boys up to the castle by their ears and dismissing the rest of the class (though not before charming the brooms to remain on the ground). In fact, he only noticed the sudden change in the location of his classmates once the air quieted around him and he was suddenly able to focus better.

Harry glanced up and looked around in time to see the last of the Gryffindors slip into the castle. He blinked, wondering what he had missed as he stood up and pocketed his book, walking quietly back to the castle and letting himself in. Once inside (and having established that class was, in fact, canceled), he headed to the library. No need to waste a perfectly good day.

:~:

The weeks following the "not-flying-lesson" (as he'd decided to call it) allowed things to fall into place for Harry. He established a routine and guidelines for how to deal with Hogwarts and the wizarding world. He got up early (and was ignored by his housemates), read during breakfast (and was ignored by the school, as the novelty of the 'Boy-Who-Lived' being in Hogwarts—let alone Slytherin—wore off), went to classes and worked alone unless he absolutely needed a partner (at which point he usually paired with the last person available, usually Davis—they had worked silent communication into an art), read at various other meals, did homework, and, in every free second of time, went to the library.

Hogwarts (the students and staff, not the castle, that was a whole other issue) had, after weeks of staring, decided to ignore him, as he never did anything interesting. There had been a couple grumblings about adopting him to be an honorary Ravenclaw after seeing him read at every meal, but on by mid October, no one cared to bother him any longer. He still got bullied and cursed in the hallways, but he was used to this from primary school and was able to compensate as needed. Furthermore, his continual injuries increased his healing skills exponentially, and if they made some form of healing potion it class, he was always sure to sneak an extra bottle. After all, 'desperation' and 'necessity' were the parents of 'mastering the material'.

His relationship with Professor Snape (if one could call it that) continued to evolve in bizarre and unexpected ways. The man had spent the first few weeks completely ignoring his existence and scowling whenever they happened to accidentally make eye-contact.

Then, at the beginning of October, the potions master's attitude had changed. Although he still ignored him, Harry had caught the professor sending him odd glances when he (the professor) thought he (Harry) wasn't looking. Harry was convinced that the potions master knew he was sneaking the healing potions (which was illegal, no student was allowed to have potions that were brewed in class), yet the man never did anything about it. It was utterly puzzling, and led to the weird, second-glance relationship which they had gotten themselves into.

Harry's manipulation of his schoolwork was coming along nicely. When in primary school, Harry had made sure he always brought home a lower grade than Dudley, so as to save himself from pain. It was actually more difficult of a concept than it appeared to be, as it dealt with high math concepts—but again, desperation and necessity were the parents of mastery, and he had definitely mastered the technique.

He applied a similar style to his grades at Hogwarts: he made sure to hit that line of 'intelligent enough to not have to worry about' yet keep below the 'smart, intelligent, we-should-keep-an-eye-on-this-kid-as-he-could-go-far' region. This was a very tiny area to fit into, yet he managed it perfectly. The only class he didn't hold back it was Potions—Professor Snape would have known (Harry didn't know why, but he would have), and besides, the potions master was ignoring him, so there was no need to worry about attracting attention.

Hogwarts itself, though, was starting to cause Harry some problems. At first he firmly believed that he was going crazy, as whenever he was completely alone, he heard a whispering, indistinct voice swirl around him. Random corridors—when he was making his exploration rounds—shifted around on him and led him to one odd discovery after another.

It wasn't that they were exactly _helpful_ discoveries (mostly abandoned classrooms and parts of the castle that, if one judged by the dust, hadn't seen movement in centuries), but he was sure the castle didn't do this with anyone else. By this point, he completely believed the rumor that Hogwarts was part-sentient. In fact, he'd improved on the idea, as he was convinced the castle was completely sentient and enjoyed annoying him.

Unfortunately for Harry, his frequent forays into the castle were continually interrupted by bullying. Harry, having learned long ago that complaining only made it worse, never said anything to the Slytherin prefects (not that they were talking to him anyway), and thus the problem didn't go away. Due to the necessity of healing himself after these encounters (and therefore finding the library), Harry made little progress in his explorations and mapping. It was this lack of results that led him to turn Slytherin dungeons (which extended far beyond the common room and the dorms, as he was beginning to discover) upside down looking for a way to sneak out after hours.

It was unofficial knowledge in Slytherin that Professor Snape had a monitoring charm on the common room door; this allowed him to catch students who went off to make 'midnight rendezvous' and assign them loads of detentions. Harry was determined to interact with the man as little as possible—thus, he couldn't get caught.

It wasn't until Harry mastered the silence ward to speak with Sebastian that he really began to make progress.

_"Well, amigo,"_ Sebastian hissed at him one night, _"Thisss man who helped make your houssse, Sssalazar Ssslytherin, wasss a parsssletongue, right? And hissstory claimsss he wasss paranoid, ssso he probably hasss a bunch of sssecret passsagesss keyed to parssseltongue."_

_ "Ok, that makesss sssenssse,"_ Harry agreed, _"But how am I going to dissscover thessse passsagesss? Itsss not like I want to introduce to the world that I can ssspeak parsssletongue."_

_ "Ssso creep around at night like you have been doing and hisss at thingsss,"_ Sebastian suggested sleepily, _"I'll tag along for comfort. If we run into any big, nasssty sssnakesss, I'll protect you…"_ he trailed off into a snore.

_"Thanksss"_ Harry replied dryly, rolling his eyes.

Seb's idea, though, was a good one, and Harry spent the next week investigating the Slytherin dungeons, looking for snakes. And once he started looking, he found them everywhere: on the furniture, engraved in the walls, patterned in the rugs, carved in portrait frames, painted in portraits, swirled in glass, etc. And they weren't just in the dungeons, either. He found them all over the school, as much as a part of the castle as the stonework.

Of course, this led to an entirely new problem.

_Don't talk to snakes in public_

It wasn't like Harry could wander around the school hissing at things, at least, not until he found a good way to sneak out after curfew without getting a detention. Thus, he was limited to checking the Slytherin common room and dorms after spelling his dorm mates' curtains with silence spells (to assure they didn't hear him).

_Let's see_, he thought to himself on that first night of exploration, Sebastian snoozing around his neck,_ I think I'll start with the snakes on the walls. I wonder if they can talk back?_

This question was answered rather quickly. The snakes definitely talked back, though they vastly preferred to snicker at his weak attempts to find secret passages as opposed to helping him—that is, until he began to find the passages.

Much to his amusement, the first passage he found (in the corridor leading to the boys dorms) opened to the hissed _"Open"_. Harry snuck inside. There wasn't much room, but his wand light revealed a long passage that mirrored the real corridor, with stairs leading up over the doors. _Utterly fascinating_, Harry thought with quiet awe. First thing first, though. He had to change that password.

Well, maybe just a little. He doubted that there were ever many muggleborns in Slytherin, and (aside from him) it was unlikely that, should any parseltongue Slytherin be muggle raised, they would lower themselves to speaking in muggle terms. Hence, the new password.

"_Open Sssesssame?"_ asked the engraved snake, guarding the passageway. _"Why, on Earth, would you want to change the passsword to _that_?"_

"_Jussst think, no one will know it,"_ Harry explained with a sigh, _"And I'll probably change it back to sssomething that purebloodsss can guesss before I leave. Jussst, for now, I'd like no one to be able to follow me."_

"_Good enough"_ grumbled the snake, and thus the trend for the passwords around Slytherin was set. Harry had the oddest feeling that Hogwarts found this particularly amusing, but he couldn't understand how he had arrived at that conclusion.

:~:

By the end of October, Harry had established an intricate network of secret passages that would lead him anywhere in the dungeons. This allowed him to bypass Professor Snape (when he wasn't patrolling) and explore the castle by night. Filch and his cat were particularly difficult to avoid, but Harry hadn't been caught yet, and he was becoming apt at steering clear of the areas they patrolled.

Professor Snape was much less predictable, and Harry had had a few near misses with him, but he practiced his stealth skills to the max and whenever the man was around, something in the back of his mind warned him to hide—he had a feeling that this was Hogwarts, but the idea disturbed him too much to contemplate it.

It was on one of these late escapades that Harry found out _why_ the third floor corridor was forbidden. He'd been wandering around, minding his own business, and trying to avoid Filch, Mrs. Norris, and Professor Snape. In one of his escape attempts, he found himself in the forbidden corridor, but—firmly believing that the danger ahead was less than the danger behind—he proceeded forward, though not without a little caution.

Finding a door which opened with a simple unlocking spell (that any dedicated first year could learn—and thus believing that this room couldn't be _that_ dangerous, or they would have made it harder to get into), he slipped inside and slid down the wall, trying desperately to control his breathing.

He listened at the door, hearing Filch stalk past (grumbling about students) and he breathed a sigh of relief. It was only at this moment that he realized there was hot, moist breath buffeting his neck, and an enormous gob of drool sliding down his shoulder. Very, _very_ slowly, he craned his neck up and around, glancing over his shoulder.

_Oh, _my_ GOD!_ Harry mentally shrieked, his firm conviction that everything existed in the magical world (and that Filch was an evil he didn't want to run into) the only thing preventing him from expressing this out loud. He and the giant three-headed dog—a Cerberus, he noted in the back of his mind—stared at each other for a long moment. Then, the Cerberus gave a low, threatening growl.

Harry tore out of that room like lightning, making sure to slam the door shut and put a considerably stronger locking spell on it (one he had learned for the sole purpose of keeping his curtains closed at night). He raced down the corridor as fast as he could while being silent, down two flights of stairs, and into one of his secret passages, sinking to the floor once he was safely locked away from the world.

Only then did he allow himself to have a minor heart attack.

_What kind of idiot keeps a _ _Cerberus in a school full of teenagers? With only a simple locking charm between it and the masses? It wasn't chained or anything! Though, Cerberus are known for guarding things, and it was standing on some kind of trapdoor…I wonder…NO. I'm leaving this were it is, and I will avoid all future interactions with that creature or the 'secret'!_ Unfortunately, three days later Harry's determination to leave the matter alone would be put to a much harder, much less easy to resist test.

:~:

Halloween dawned bright and clear—to Harry's disgust. He sat at the breakfast table (reading), trying to tune out the excited chatter of his fellow Slytherins. _You would think that the 'oh so perfect purebloods' would be too dignified to be excited over a holiday_, he groused to himself, _But no, even the seventh years are giggling about the feast tonight. I think I'm going to skip._

There was a very good reason for Harry's sullen bad mood. He'd learned from a book (one of the numerous ones on him) that his parents had died on Halloween. Granted, so had Voldemort _(You'd think that the Slytherins who supported him would therefore be depressed on a day like this_), thus adding even more cheer and jubilation to the otherwise sugar-obsessed holiday.

Harry had always hated Halloween. It was the day when Dudley got to dress up in a fantastic costume (though never a wizard or magician, Harry now noted with a private amusement, a long held question finally answered), and lumbered his great bulk around the neighborhood, getting boatloads of candy while Aunt Petunia cooed at how adorable he was.

Harry had always prayed that one year Dudley would dress up like a 'cute adorable pig', though it was probably best that he never had; Harry wasn't sure he would have been able to keep from laughing at the living personification of what he often thought Dudley looked like. And that would have been bad. No, it was probably best that Dudley never dressed up like any 'cute' animals (whale, cow…oh, the list went on and on).

However, as much as Dudley loved the holiday (even more candy than normal), Harry hated it. _He_ was never allowed to dress up (and woe betide that he ever got candy and cooed at by the neighbors). Harry would spend the entire time at the door, handing out the candy he was never allowed to eat, and making up a bazillion excuses (for the adults) as to why he was home instead of roaming the neighborhood. Harry hated Halloween with a passion, and finding out that his parents had died on this day really hadn't improved his outlook of the holiday.

Actually, it was probably a good thing that no one at Hogwarts was talking to him—he would undoubtedly have bitten their heads off by this point in the morning. He sent another nasty glare at his table mates and sank deeper into depression. He felt the mental equivalent of a hug wrap around his mind, then retreat when he flinched away; he banished the feeling and his reaction to a dark corner of his mind (along with all the other bizarre stuff that happened to him, which he labeled as 'Hogwarts' and resolved think about later, when he was more capable of dealing with the insanity).

Harry, somehow, managed to get through his classes. His normal partner for Herbology (Tracy Davis, as usual) took one look at his scarily blank face and partnered with someone else, leaving Harry to struggle through that class alone. He didn't really mind—he wouldn't have partnered with himself either—and it was probably best that he wasn't around anyone at the moment; his tendency to snap at people when he was in this mood would probably alienate everyone from him for good. The rest of his classes passed in similar fashion.

At lunch, a rumor ran around the school that the youngest Weasley boy (Gryffindor) had insulted the Granger girl (Gryffindor who should have been in Ravenclaw) and that she was in a bathroom crying. The Slytherins were either indifferent to the matter, gossiped about the 'weak-minded girl', or sympathized.

Harry really didn't care. She'd either learn to deal with her classmates, or she'd flounder. Harsh, but he'd learned from experience that crying and being hurt didn't solve anything. Whether in school or at the Dursleys, it simply added to the pain and gave people a chance to humiliate him. The Granger girl was a lot like him (a loner), but unlike him, she hadn't accepted it as her lot in life.

_Which is probably why she'll eventually make friends and I won't_, he though. _She'll be ok; someday, she'll meet someone like her who still has an optimistic view of life, and they'll get along fine._ With that thought, he put the matter out of his mind.

Directly before the 'big-amazing-feast-that-the-whole-school-has-been-talking-about-all-day', Harry received a rather unpleasant shock. The Slytherin dorms and common room would be locked to students for the duration (probably in an attempt to make them go to the feast, or not sneak out of it—not that anyone aside from him wanted to skip). Thus, Harry had no where to go for his plan to mourn his parents and light a candle in their memory. With a sigh, he decided to wander the school until the dorms opened again.

Slipping away from his housemates as they headed up to the feast was ridiculously simple: they weren't paying any attention to him and chattered so loudly that a firework probably wouldn't have broken their conversations. Slinking behind a tapestry and hissing (under his breath) the password, he slipped into a small passage. It was one that simply connected two corridors (one on top of the other), and thus wasn't large, but it was perfect for his intent. He sank down onto a dusty stair and waited out the rush to the feast.

Five minutes—ten minutes—finally he deemed that everyone who was going to the feast was already there, and thus it was safe to walk the halls undetected. He left the dungeons and began to wander aimlessly, not really paying attention to where he was going. Sebastian, who, after one look at his gloomy face that morning, had decided to accompany him for the day (in the form of a black mamba—though why was beyond Harry. It would be bad enough if he was caught with a snake, but a very poisonous snake? Fortunately, he was much to out of it to care), struck up a conversation.

"_You know, amigo, thisss mood really doesssn't become you."_

"_Sssebassstian, ssshut up."_

"_I'm ssseriousss! You haven't absssorbed a word you've read thisss entire day (which hasss to be a record) and you are really out of it. Not at all fun. Why don't you celebrate? I'm sssure your parentsss wouldn't want you to mourn your life away. They'd probably rather you celebrate than sssulk."_

"_If I sssaid 'ssshut up' in a different language, would you obey then?"_

"_Hmm, maybe I could tell you about the zoo. That aught to dissstract you. Where to begin…well, asss you know, I wasss in the reptile houssse with all the other reptilesss. Bloody annoying they were, too. The sssnakes had no sssenssse of humor and the lizardsss were afraid I wasss going to eat them. And then when you let me out, I got my own private tour attempting to leave the place. The big cats just sssneared at me. Have you ever ssseen a cat sssnear? They can do it like no other, I tell you. And then the bird houssse. Nice, juicy mealsss flying around…pity I didn't ssstop to eat, but I wasss in a hurry. And then the chimpanzeesss! Thossse were annoying buggersss! Why they…"_

Harry listened to Sebastian rant on and on, describing the different delights and horrors of his escape from the zoo in an attempt to cheer him up. It didn't really work, but he appreciated the effort.

The two of them probably covered more of the school during that feast than they had on any other occasion. Harry simply walked without a purpose, going blindly through the corridors, trying to remember his parents. He didn't even know what they looked like (none of the books he'd read had any pictures of them), except for the comments from various teachers about how he 'had his mother's eyes' or 'he looked so much like James'. He sighed and sank deeper into gloom.

A commotion around one of the stair wells up ahead broke Harry from his depressing thoughts. _What on Earth…the feast isn't suppose to be over yet! Hmm, well, I might as well head back to the common room_. It was only then that he realized where he was.

_Oops._

He raced out of the forbidden corridor, only to duck into a dark corner when Professor Quirrell—of all people—rushed past him, towards the Cerberus's door. _What in the…_he dismissed the thought and hurried away again, not wanting to be caught.

Down a staircase and into the next corridor, though, he was forced to take cover once more. Harry watch in disbelief as Professor Snape stormed by, heading up the way he'd just come—also, apparently, going to the forbidden corridor._ Why would they both…NO. I said no more investigating into this mess, and I'm going to leave it alone!_

"_What isss going on, amigo?"_ Sebastian, who had quieted when Quirrell passed, finally asked.

"_I have no idea. We ssshould probably get out of here. Head to the common room."_ Harry replied, taking off down the corridor again. He'd only gone ten paces, though, before Sebastian spoke.

"_Umm, amigo? What'sss that sssmell?"_

"_What sssmell?"_ Harry asked, a feeling of dread falling over him. His instincts were screaming and they'd never let him down before. _Oh dear God, what is going on?_ The thud of heavy steps caught his attention and his eyes widened. _Uhoh…whatever is heavy enough to make that sound isn't good for me...but what the Hell is it doing in the school. I'd wonder what it was, but in the name of self-preservation, I'd better run…_

Still, the thing (he couldn't see it yet) was stomping in his direction—and the only other route was back the way he'd come…not an option, as that was the forbidden corridor. _I knew I should have found some more secret passages!_ Just as the thing rounded the corridor and came into sight, Harry slipped into a tiny alcove. Exchanging a glance with Sebastian, who then slithered so his head was on top of Harry's, he peeked out.

Stomping down the corridor was a troll: an honest-to-goodness _troll_, all twelve feet, tiny head, and club. Harry gaped, but Sebastian was not limited to such minor actions.

_ "__Sssanta_ _MIERDA! ¿Qué carajo esss que hacesss aquí?"_

_"Ssseb, I don't ssspeak Ssspanisssh!"_ Harry managed to hiss back, having a fairly good idea of what the snake had said, but unable to latch his thoughts onto anything else.

As he watched in shock (and horror), the troll veered off the straight path down the corridor and into one of the side rooms. _Girls' bathroom_, Harry noted without really thinking about it,_ Now, if it will just stay in there, I can sneak past and run down to the common room…_he edged slowly towards the wall opposite the door, focusing his entire mind on getting away without being caught.

A high, petrified scream—echoing out the open door and into the corridor—blew his plan to shreds. Unable to comprehend that anyone else was in the general vicinity, Harry (in what must have been a moment of minor stupidity) crept up to the door and peeked in. The Granger girl was pressed against the far wall, eyes fixed on the enormous troll bearing down on her. The troll was smashing sinks and stalls (and doing horrors to the plumbing, water was spraying everywhere), but it was clear its target was the shrieking human.

_"Joder!"_ Seb hissed in horror, _"Amigo, we can't jussst leave her there!"_

_ "I know, I know,"_ Harry hissed back, shaking, _"What the Hell do we do?"_

As he said this, the girl glanced away from the troll to the door (probably judging the distance to run) and saw him. Their eyes met with equal parts of pure terror, and Harry knew he had to act. Stumbling into the bathroom and feeling around (_he_ wasn't going to take his eyes off the troll), he shouted "RUN" at the girl. Unfortunately, she seemed too frozen with terror to move.

Harry snagged a piece of rubble from the ground and hurled it (with dead accuracy) at the back of the troll's head. The rock connected with a loud thump that made Harry wince in slight sympathy, even though he'd been the one to throw it and intended to do so again. _That _had_ to hurt._ This action brought the troll around and it started to lumber towards Harry, club raised. _Oh, this is _not_ good. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea…_ Harry thought frantically, trying to find somewhere to run.

In his search for ammunition, Harry had unknowingly backed himself into a corner. _Shit!_ He thought in terror, as the troll came nearer. It halted a few feet from him, though, spinning around: the Granger girl had thrown a rather low level _Reducto_ spell which, although having absolutely no damage effect, had caught the troll's attention. As it turned back to her, Harry had a rare moment of insight and stupidity combined into one.

_"Alright, Ssseb, the face and mouth of a creature isss the weakessst part, right? Well, let'sss get there…"_ He took a running leap onto the troll's back.

The girl gaped at him, but kept throwing very weak Reducto curses at the troll's chest to keep it occupied. Harry dodged the enormous hand that reached up to throw him off and scrambled onto the troll's shoulders. He spun his wand around in front of the troll's face and aimed at its mouth, not noticing Sebastian sliding down around the troll's neck. Squeezing his eyes shut and praying to all the Gods and to magic (who knows, it might help), he fired _Incendio_ directly into the troll's face.

It wasn't a very good spell—Harry had just learned it the previous week—and it certainly wasn't that powerful, but it did burn the troll…or rather, the inside of the troll's mouth. The creature howled in pain; it's seeking hand connected with Harry and yanked him off, throwing him hard into a nearby wall.

He slid down to the floor, dazed and in intense pain, realizing only then that Sebastian wasn't with him.

Harry turned horrified eyes back to the troll in time to see his one and only friend (still in black mamba form) sink his fangs into the troll's jugular. Harry blinked. Now _there_ was an idea he hadn't thought of. Of course, the venom might not kill the troll—as it took nearly 20 minutes to kill a human, and they were much smaller—but it would definitely give the troll something to think about. Sebastian, having accomplished his goal, raced down the troll's body and practically flew to Harry, hiding under his robes once more.

_"Yuck!"_ Seb hissed in his ear, _"Troll tassstesss absssolutely disssgusssting. Now all we have to do isss get out of here!"_

The troll, still howling from being burned and now bitten, stomped (and swayed) it's way across the room towards the Granger girl. She, at least, seemed somewhat intelligent in harmful situations and crawled along the wall towards Harry, her wand still pointed at the troll.

"Are you ok?" she gasped as she neared, "Oh, please be ok! We have to get out of here. Oh my God, oh my God, oh, my God…" This last bit was stuttered as the troll drew nearer and nearer.

Harry, still dizzy from hitting the wall, and fairly sure he'd broken a rib in the collision, looked around for something to slow the troll down, anything. _Where the HELL are the professors! We've been making more than enough noise to attract the attention of the entire f—ing castle!_ He spotted the pools of water on the floor (due to the spraying water—which was _still_ squirting all over the place) and was struck with another idea, remembering a science lesson from elementary school.

~_Heavy things fall hard_~ his teacher had said ~_and it's really bad for heavy objects to fall. They get far more damaged in the impact than light things. Think of a plastic marble versus a solid glass marble. The glass one in more likely to chip or break than the plastic one_~

Of course, there was more to the example than she had explained, but as the students were only eight, he'd forgiven her for leaving out important concepts—like malleability of the material, surface area, density, elasticity, etc. The point was, the idea was sound.

~_The same concept applies to people_~ she had continued ~_That's why adults are often hurt more when they fall than little kids. The heavier you are, the taller you are, the farther you have to fall and the worse you'll be hurt_~

_Time to apply basic science,_ thought Harry, aiming his wand at the water on the floor, _Gravity, I love you._

"G_acialis_," he croaked, praying with all his might that this spell would work and work well.

The water on the floor turned to ice.

The troll, not sensing the change in environment, to a stumbling step forward and slipped, falling heavily face first. It was unable to catch itself as it fell, whether due to the paralysis effect of the snake venom or lack of brains, and it implanted—face first—into the floor. It didn't get back up.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the girl. She gaped at the troll, adrenaline still pumping though her and keeping her in action mode. Once it wore off, she'd probably be in hysterics.

"Is it—dead" she asked in a hushed tone, as if any noise would make it move again.

"I don't think so," Harry managed to wheeze. Oh yes, definitely a broken rib. "I think it's just been knocked out." The girl turned toward him with a concerned look on her face.

"Are you alright? You hit the wall rather hard…" she trailed off worriedly, as if realizing that even if he was hurt, there really wasn't anything she could do about it. Harry could practically see the light bulb flick on in a sudden desire to research healing spells. Looked like he would have competition in that section of the library.

"I'm…" he gasped as he slowly maneuvered himself onto his hands and knees, rising to a kneel and leaning heavily on the wall for support, "…fine." And very, very dizzy, but he decided not to mention that. Probably had a concussion…stupid troll.

The thoughts of the creature made him look at it again, and he finally saw the effects of his ice spell._ Hmm, maybe praying with all my might that the water would freeze wasn't the best idea in the world,_ he thought, as he surveyed the frozen bathroom.

Not only had the puddles on the floor turned to ice, but so had the water spraying out of the sinks and broken pipes, the water on the walls, on the ceiling, on the rubble…_my, my, I've created an ice-world_. Oh well, at least it stopped the leaks.

"Are you sure you're ok?" asked the Granger girl again, observing him with concentration. Well, he probably didn't present the perfect image of health, bruised and soaked to the bone as he was (though not solid ice—apparently the water on them didn't freeze, probably due to some unconscious knowledge that _that _effect would be _bad). _

She was undoubtedly paying more attention to him than normal in an attempt to not think about what had just happened, and the fact that there was a full grown troll lying just a few feet from her. He really didn't mind that much. It was better to have her interrogating him than going into hysterics (which he couldn't deal with).

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps echoed in the hushed silence that had descended since the troll had fallen (not surprising, really: the ice spell stopped the gushing water sounds and they were both speaking quietly due to shock).

"Ahh, yes," Harry groaned, "The authority figures finally arrive to deal with the situation, long after any more action is necessary."

Had he been in his right state of mind he would never have uttered this out loud; however, he was exhausted, concussed, injured, overdosed on adrenaline, and more than a little annoyed with the staff. The Granger girl frowned at him, but it was clear that she felt the same way.

A moment later, Professor McGonagall came bursting into the room, followed closely by Professor Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on the one intact toilet, clutching his heart. _Some DADA teacher,_ Harry thought sourly, standing slowly. No matter how much it hurt (or how close he was to fainting, he was gripping the groves in the wall hard), he didn't want to face this situation kneeling down.

Professor Snape knelt down by the troll, apparently checking to see if it really was unconscious. Smart idea. Harry noticed that his pant leg, sticking out from under his robes when he knelt down, was torn open, the flesh under it mangled, as if he'd been bitten by a dog…

_Hmm, well that's interesting_.

Professor McGonagall turned from the sight of the unconscious troll to Harry and the girl. He'd never seen her looking so angry; her lips were white. _She can't seriously be mad at us? We're still alive, aren't we?_

"What on earth were you thinking of?" She snapped, cold fury in her voice. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

This was rattled off with the conviction that they had been in this situation deliberately, almost as if they had gone looking for the troll…and suddenly, Harry was furious.

He was cold, wet, hurt, and _for the sake of grace_, the only thing he'd wanted to do all night was grieve for his parents! His teacher was regarding him the same way his relatives did when they blamed him for something Dudley had done, and he nearly screamed at the unfairness of the situation (well, and in pain, but he was ignoring it at the moment).

He just wanted to mourn, he hadn't expected to have to save his classmate's life or take on a creature that _shouldn't have been on the school grounds to begin with_. Some safe world this wizarding one was. He blanked his face and stared impassively over McGonagall's shoulder—the exact same way he did when he received lectures from his relatives. He missed the piercing look his Head of House sent him.

A small, shaking voice (_adrenaline's wearing off, here come the hysterics_) interrupted the silence.

"Please, Professor McGonagall, he saved my life." Now all the professors stared at Harry. He ignored them, looking down at his chest and feeling with a shaking hand along his ribs (_Oh, there's the broken one_) and being careful to fold his torn robes over to hide Sebastian, who held very still.

"And why, Miss Granger, would saving you have been necessary?" McGonagall asked in a tone that implied she believed Harry had gotten her Gryffindor into this situation to begin with. Harry pressed his lips together and remained looking away, ignoring the world.

The Granger girl drew a deep breath. Harry realized what she was about to do and felt slightly impressed. It wasn't easy to inform teachers that your classmates had been picking on you, especially when you're used to having your comments dismissed—which Harry was sure she'd been in the past. His anger at the situation died away, and suddenly, he was very, _very_ exhausted.

"I wasn't at the feast." Hermione began, not looking at McGonagall either, "I was in here. Ronald Weasley said something really mean to me today in class and I…was in no shape to be at the feast" which everyone in the room interpreted correctly to mean she had been crying. "Suddenly, this, this _troll_ entered and started smashing things. I screamed, and he" she gestured to Harry, "came running in."

Well, not really running, more like slinking, but he didn't blame her for getting verbs wrong at the moment. The hysterics were coming on fast, and he had no doubt she would break down when the story was over.

"It—the troll—almost smashed me, but he distracted it by throwing a rock at its head. So it went towards him, and he couldn't get away…he was cornered…so I hit it with a Reducto curse"

"You did what?" Professor Snape hissed in a piercing whisper. The girl glanced at him in fright.

"I knew it wouldn't have any effect…trolls are resistant to magic, it says so in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_"

McGonagall rolled her eyes upward at this deviation from the story and Professor Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Clearly, they're used to the Granger girl's class work and explanations_. The girl hurried back to the tale.

"So the troll turned back to me…apparently, it could feel the spell even if it didn't work, and he" another faint gesture at Harry, "Jumped on its back and cast an _Incendio_ in its mouth."

Now all the professors stared in disbelief at Harry. McGonagall's expression was one of 'he did WHAT?' but no one said anything and Granger continued.

"It didn't really do much, just burned the inside of its mouth, but the troll got really mad and threw him into the wall really hard. Then it kept coming towards me and he cast this spell to turn all the water into ice—" apparently, she hadn't seen Sebastian's part in all of this, "—and it slipped and went crashing down and you know how heavy things fall hard" _She must be muggleborn; she'd of had the same lesson in primary school too_ "and now…" she trailed off, glancing at the unconscious troll and swallowing, looking as if she were about to burst into tears.

Utter silence. Harry glanced up from his investigation of his side to find all the teachers staring off in one direction or another. McGonagall, her expression softening, was looking at the Granger girl with sympathy. Professor Snape was staring at Harry, just staring at him, with a perfectly blank face. Harry aimed one right back at him, though made sure not to meet his eyes. He'd read something about mind reading and he hadn't looked directly at anyone every since. Quirrell was back to watching the troll and whimpering.

"Well," McGonagall said at last with a deep breath, "That was extremely brave and extremely foolish of you both. You should have run away, not tried to deal with the troll." Harry arched an eyebrow at her. _Hello, trapped…_ "Miss Granger, _no don't cry, it'll be alright._ Quirinus, would you please escort Miss Granger to the hospital wing for a calming draught?"

The now sobbing girl made her way across the ice to the DADA professor and the two of them left—though Harry wasn't sure which one of the two of them would benefit more from the calming draught. _DADA teacher afraid of trolls, honestly_. He made to leave as well, venturing carefully from the wall and listening to very quiet encouragement hissed by Seb, but was stopped at the door by the sight of Professor Flitwickand the Headmaster. They'd apparently heard most of the story, for they didn't look that shocked at the scene in the bathroom, though their eyes were wider than normal.

"Not you, Mr. Potter," McGonagall's voice cracked like a whip behind him, "We still haven't learned why you were absent from the feast. No one else, aside from Miss Granger—who had a perfectly legitimate excuse—was missing. What's your reason for not wanting to celebrate?" It was clear she though he'd gone looking for the troll.

And suddenly, Harry was furious again. Could he not be left in piece and quiet for one moment tonight? All he wanted to do was mourn his dead parents on the correct date for the first time in his life. Was it really too much to ask?

Harry exited the bathroom and turned to head towards the right, down the corridor that led to the dungeons. Hanging onto the doorframe to steady himself—he was _not_ going to make a trip to the hospital wing due to 'shaking', he hadn't healed from his latest bully-induced injuries yet—he turned back to regard McGonagall and his Head of House, both of who were glaring at him.

"It is the anniversary of my parents' death," he said in a soft, cold tone which shook slightly; he recognized the odd pinching feeling around his nose and wondered why he felt like crying (honestly, he hadn't cried in years and he'd handled much worse situations than this), "I am _not_ in the mood to celebrate."

He turned and headed down the corridor, his steps quick and even—through a ton of effort, it was all he could do to walk straight—leaving his suddenly horrified teachers behind him.

"_Ssshusssh, amigo,"_ Seb hissed comfortingly to him, _"It'll be alright. It'll be alright."_

* * *

The silence that blanketed the bathroom after Potter's statement had yet to be broken, even five minutes after his departure. Severus sighed and looked down at the troll again, impre—no, _surprised_ that his student had demonstrated quick, logical thinking in a stressful situation. _His father wouldn't have—_he cut that thought off abruptly.

Minerva was still staring after the brat, her hand pressed to her mouth in horrified grief. He sneered at her; she'd certainly deserved that cut down, after asking a question like that. _Actually, we all deserved those cutting words,_ he thought darkly, his eyes shifting the Headmaster, who was gazing after the boy sadly, _After all, _none_ of us made the connection between celebrating the defeat of the dark lord and the death of Potter's parents_.

"Well," Filius began. Trust the charms professor to try and pick up the ruined situation. _First years battling a _troll,_ of all things. _What_ is this world coming to?_ "I think we could have handled that situation a little better. Are we even sure that Mr. Potter is alright?" And that question brought everyone's head whipping in his direction. "Miss Granger _did_ say that he'd been thrown into the wall."

"If he can walk away like that, he's fine," Severus sneered, though he made a mental note to check on the brat later—preferably without said brat knowing. He wanted to think that Potter didn't possess the acting skills to _walk off_ being thrown into a wall by a troll, and thus believe that Miss Granger was exaggerating the situation.

However, just this last Friday he thought he'd seen Potter get badly burned by his potion. Potter had jerked back a bit at the time, but otherwise hadn't reacted; the sleeve of his robe had slipped back down over his wrist, making it impossible for Severus to see the damage—thus, Severus had dismissed the injury as less harmful that he'd initially thought. But in light of recent events…

_Where would Potter gain the ability to hide injuries so well? Never mind that, _why _would the brat hide injuries at all? He's spoilt rotten, surely he'd run to the hospital wing at first chance. _But there had been no record of Potter ever going to the hospital wing.

Severus shoved the matter to the back of his mind, resolving to pay even more attention to the brat-who-appeared-to-have-no-friends. Now _that_ was another issue entirely. He had thought his house's "speaking ban" would have worn off by now…

"Severus," the Headmaster addressed him, jerking him from his thoughts, "Is the troll…"

"It's unconscious, but—" the potions master looked down at the fallen creature with a frown, "It really should have woken back up by now. Trolls have unusually hard skulls. A fall like that wouldn't put it out for more than a few minutes and according to Miss Granger, Potter didn't hurt it that badly." He knelt down again, examining the troll's head as the Headmaster made his way across the ice.

"I believe we will have to congratulate Mr. Potter on his freezing spell," Dumbledore announced, glancing around, "It is a truly remarkable piece of magic. The power that must have gone into freezing _all_ the water in the room…Filius, I didn't think you taught freezing charms until third year," he added suddenly.

"I don't," the charms professor murmured, also examining the ice. Everyone paused at the implications of this statement, before turning back to the troll's unusually long unconsciousness.

_What in the…_Severus thought, noticing for the first time a dark liquid seeping from the troll's neck. "Albus, it appears as if the troll were bitten by—a snake," he said quietly, noting the puncture wounds on the neck.

The Headmaster, peering over his shoulder, cast a quick charm to determine the venom and type of snake, and they both sat backward, reeling with the implications of the results.

Minerva, speaking for the first time, grief and pain still heavy in her voice, asked in disbelief.

"Am I reading this right, Albus? We've managed to subdue the troll, but now we have a _black mamba_ roaming around the school?"

* * *

SO...that's all for the moment. I figure the next chapter will take me past Christmast, leaving one or two more to finish this story up.

I'm not translating the Spanish (if it's even right). If you want to know, translate it yourself. Point of fact: it's swear words.

Harry's a bit of a loner. Don't mistake for a minute that he's friends with anyone at Hogwarts (well, aside from the castle, but _that_ will be discussed next chapter). And his saving Hermione will not make him become friends with her, BTW

You'll notice that Severus is slowly catching on to Harry's home life. It will take him a while-he's very stubborn-but in the end, it will all work out ok.

One final note: I'm looking for a story. In fact, I've been looking for this story for ages. I don't know what it's called, or who it's by, but here's what I remember of it.

The Story involves Harry being left with his relatives for the Summer. Voldemort happens to be swept into Harry's mind (similar to how Harry is often swept into Voldemort's mind) and Voldy witnesses Harry being raped by his Uncle. He goes to Privet Drive, removes Harry, and gives him to Snape, who his waiting at the door. Voldemort knows that Snape's a traitor, but tells him that his punishment is to train Harry so that when they meet again on the battle field, Harry will be a warrior, not an abused child.

I'm pretty sure the story's a one-shot, and under a Harry/Voldemort, or Harry/Tom Riddle Jr. category.

If you know what it is, _please_ let me know. Thank you.

Edited August, 2010

3


	4. The Silence of Winter

Hello everyone.

It's summer and I can't believe how much free time I have to write. Look at this, two chapters out in less than a month.

So...this chapter has some confusing POV changes which, I hope, are broken up with space dividers (it's failed before). Sorry if this causes and problems.

"talking", _"Parseltongue", thoughts_

Disclaimer: Wish.

Thanks to all those who reviewed.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

The days following 'The Troll Incident' (as Harry decided to call it) were surprisingly peaceful. It didn't take Harry very long at all to realize why—no one had said a word about what had happened. Naturally, Harry kept silent; it wasn't as if he had anyone to talk to anyway. The Granger girl (Hermione, he'd remembered her name was) also didn't say a word, probably because she was shunned by her housemates almost as much as he was.

The teachers weren't talking either, though that reason was rather obvious. It wasn't good for the school's reputation to have a _troll_ wandering around and attacking first years, and no help arriving until far after the situation required it. The result of this was, despite the rumor mill at Hogwarts—which rivaled that of a political campaign—no word of what happened got to the students, and thus the 'trick' of Halloween was quickly forgotten. Most people assumed the teachers had dealt with the problem.

Harry didn't mind the lack of recognition for his 'heroics' (stupidity) at all. He slumped back into his pattern without so much as a hitch, as if 'The Troll Incident' hadn't actually happened.

His professors, those who had been there that night, acted bizarrely around him for the first few weeks.

Professor McGonagall spent most of his first two transfiguration lessons sending him slight, pitying and grieving glances. She clearly felt bad for her words that night, but Harry did his best to ignore her. She was a fantastic teacher, and was very fair to the Slytherins (considering how Professor Snape treated the Gryffindors), but he'd lost some of his respect for her.

Professor Quirrell avoided him. At all costs. Harry wasn't quite sure _why_, but he wasn't going to object. The less time he had to spend in that man's presence, the fewer headaches he'd get (and the source of those mysterious headaches drove him nuts: nothing, pain relievers or the like, worked to stop them. _And_ they vanished once he was clear of Quirrell's general proximity).

Professor Snape had taken to watching him…_again_. It was very subtle, and if Harry hadn't had an overdeveloped sense of paranoia, he would never have noticed. Still, the man would watch him through every meal, every class, in halls when they passed each other.

He'd (Harry) looked up spells in the library to tell if one had tracking charms on them—there was no knowing what lengths his professor might go to (and Harry had a feeling that the potions master had no reservations of doing something illegal)—but he found nothing to indicate that Professor Snape was following him. Just…watching. It was utterly unnerving, especially because Harry had no idea why the man was interested in him, and thus he went out of his way to avoid his Head of House.

He had the oddest feeling that Professor Snape knew he avoided him, and that this peeked the man's interest even more. Harry resolved to do a better job slinking around the castle.

:~:

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. Harry was not appreciative. The dungeons were frigid (and there wasn't even snow on the ground yet), and he had to wear multiple layers of clothing in order to preserve a sense of warmth. He very quickly learned heating spells and applied them to the covers on his bed, his robes, and his cloak.

The mountains around the school became icy grey and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered with frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun.

One would have thought that, out of all the houses, Slytherin would be the least devoted to the game. After all, they were self interested, haughty, and did _not_ show feelings in public…but no, they were as die-hard fanatics as the Gryffindors, and the common room (normally quiet with only a faint hint of noise…usually from dueling) became a virtual maelstrom of voices arguing over teams, past games (professional and Hogwarts), players, critiques of the current teams, etc.

In fact, the entire school was fanatical about Quidditch.

The Gryffindors argued loudly—in shouting matches—during all the meals over various Quidditch trivia.

The Hufflepuffs, who should have been the most subdued (their team wasn't that great, and their house had the most muggleborns, none of whom knew of Quidditch before entering the magical world), were unbelievably loyal to their players, and turned out in droves when a game started.

The Ravenclaws, as a house, seemed determined to prove that they weren't just _bookworms_, and threw their normally level heads into the sport, creating complex strategies in an attempt to prove that knowledge was useful.

The Slytherins were nearly all purebloods (those not so pure hid it well) and had played Quidditch generation after generation, and thus argued, bragged, and compared their Quidditch playing ancestors…back four or more centuries.

Harry was not impressed. At all.

Although given the chance he probably would have loved flying (his year had never gotten off the ground again after that first disastrous lesson), and perhaps, under different circumstances, he would have been phenomenal at Quidditch, Harry had had too many bad experiences with sports in the past.

Sports had always been Dudley's field of expertise, as well as Dudley's gang's. They might have been thrown out of games left and right in gym class due to cheating and fouls, but generally not before they'd successfully beaten Harry to a pulp. Furthermore, Harry had never had the chance to play sports outside of school, as he had _so_ many chores to do and his relatives would have gone nuts if he'd proved to be better than 'their precious Dudders' in anything.

All of this had forever cast a negative connotation on the word or idea of sports, and thus Harry had no desire to have anything to do with Quidditch. His reaction to the sport was noted by his housemates—and although they weren't talking to him, they were very puzzled over his lack of enthusiasm at the commencement of the Quidditch season. However, they never bothered to ask, and Harry didn't bother to explain.

Instead, he used the wondrous quiet that took over the castle during a Quidditch game (unbelievably, almost all the teachers turned out to attend the things—but then again, he was fairly positive he was the only student remaining in the school, and no one noticed his absence) to explore the castle and library.

Through trial and error, Harry found a trove of parseltongue locked passages that twisted and wound all over the school, from the tallest tower to the deep dungeons. These passages occasionally connected to the regular secret passages which, apparently, also honeycombed their way across the castle.

This latter set of passages appeared to be well known, as Harry had almost run into both the Weasley twins _and_ Filch when he was exploring one day; it had been a very near miss, and the only thing that had saved him was the parseltongue activated wall between the different passage networks, which he'd managed to slip behind and close just in time. The direct result of this incident was his avoidance of the main secret passages. Consequently, he became _very_ hard to catch when out after curfew.

Still, having more free time than any other student (_they_ attended Quidditch games and practices, and actually respected curfew) allowed him to make marvelous discoveries. Deep in the dungeons, he found old, unused Potions classrooms, still stacked with ancient cauldrons and molding ingredients (and he definitely knew what he'd be using them for. A perfect place to practice brewing…without having to worry about blowing up the entire school—the Potions classrooms were warded against it). He found un-trodden wings of the castle, with dust so thick that it appeared no one had been there in years. These, in turn, led him to more unused classrooms, filled with the most fascinating objects—even if most of them were broken.

In an old part of the castle, Harry had found an ancient ghost. This ghost, although nearly incoherent and unable to hold a straight conversation for the world, proved to be a wealth of information and very entertaining. Harry couldn't rely on him to answer questions, but every so often in the course of his rambling dialogue the ghost would drop a gem of information about Hogwarts. Like: "watch out for that eighth staircase up from the Great Hall. It has a vanishing step half way up" or "You have to pace back and fourth three times in front of Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry in order to get to the 'Come and Go' room" (Harry was still looking into that one).

The 'gem' he was currently following was one related to the kitchens: "to enter the kitchens, tickle the painted pear". This was actually a lot harder than Harry had initially thought. For one thing, he hadn't realized just _how_ many paintings had pears in them. Furthermore, many of the paintings got annoyed when he randomly went and tickled said pear. Secondly—he realized with a jolt—the kitchens could be in a part of the castle he hadn't yet discovered. This thought evoked a frantic search until he gathered his wits about him and sat down to contemplate the situation.

After a few minutes discussion with Sebastian (who stayed with Harry constantly after 'The Troll Incident'), Harry headed towards the Great Hall, reasoning that the kitchens, since they prepared the food, would be somewhere in its general vicinity. Of course, the food was transported there magically—and thus the kitchens didn't need to be close by—but at least it was a starting point.

Harry spent an entire Quidditch match covering every square inch around the Great Hall—exploring side corridors, finding a few more parseltongue passages, and discovering a handful of tiny rooms (no bigger than his cupboard) situated so that one could observe the Great Hall from a few floors up without being seen. Eventually, he wandered down into the lower levels below the Great Hall, and it was there he found an enormous painting of a bowl of fruit. It included a pear.

With great trepidation (other paintings _had_ yelled at him…even if no human occupants could be seen), Harry tickled the pear.

To his absolute astonishment, it giggled back at him and revealed a handle. Grinning to himself, he slowly opened the portrait, stepped inside, and stopped short at the bustle of activity taking place before his eyes. _What in the…_ he thought hazily, staring in disbelief at the small creatures racing around, chopping ingredients, slamming pots and pans, and generally causing a great deal of commotion.

Of course, they chose this moment to realize he was there.

The creatures around him froze, and then two of them hurried over.

"Mr. Harry Potter, sir!" one squeaked at him, "We is delighted to see yous here!"

Before Harry quite knew what had happened, he was seated at a small table and a platter of sweets was plopped down in front of him. Tentatively, Harry accepted one and saw the creature, whatever it was, beam at him.

"Mr. Harry Potter be needing anything else?" the little being asked.

"Umm…" Harry stuttered, trying to phrase this in a polite manner, "Could you answer a couple of questions for me?"

"I is being delighted, sir!"

"What, exactly, are you?"

"I is a house elf, sir!" at Harry's completely blank look, the crea—no, house elf—decided to elaborate, "We is taking care of the castle and stuff."

"So…you do the cleaning, deal with food, and the like?"

The house elf nodded ecstatically.

"And, what is your name?"

"I is Snippit, sir!"

The house elf seemed completely astounded that Harry would ask him something like that. Harry, dazed and more than a little confused by the information, thanked the house elf for his (or her, he really couldn't tell) time and for the food. To his astonishment and slight horror, the little thing looked like it was about to burst into tears at the statement, but it managed to calm itself down and scurried off back to work. Harry chewed idly on a chocolate bar and contemplated the scenario playing out before him.

The house elves bustled around cooking and cleaning. In a different part of the kitchens, some appeared to be doing laundry, while others folded bed spreads and fluffed pillows. He watched, with no small astonishment, as a pot tipped over and soup began to spill out onto the floor. The house elf nearby snapped its fingers and the liquid halted, then rose back up and deposited itself in the now righted pot. Harry shook his head in bewilderment.

Watching the very organized chaos, Harry felt a small tingle of _something_ in the back of his mind. Focusing on the emotion (which he couldn't identify), he finally realized that he didn't like this image of the wizarding world. The house elves reminded him too much of his time with the Dursleys—they moved with the same frantic hurry that he did in an attempt to get every chore done before his uncle came home and beat him to pieces.

He didn't _think_ that the people in the castle would do that to these creatures, but the haste in which they moved made him unsure.

And if these house elves did all the manual labor, what did the wizards do? Did they just sit back and enjoy themselves (like the Dursleys), while letting these creatures work themselves into the ground?

"_I don't like thisss,"_ Harry hissed to Sebastian, _"I don't like thisss at all."_

"_It'sss a different culture, amigo," _his friend tried to comfort him, _"Don't make blind accusssationsss without knowing all the detailsss."_ Harry nodded in acknowledgement of what Sebastian had said, but still a feeling of foreboding worked its way into his mind. He got up and silently left the kitchens, not entirely at ease with what he'd found there.

Once outside the kitchens, he was able to calm himself a bit and return to his explorations. To his amusement, he found a 'snake' passage (as he'd taken to calling the parseltongue passageways) directly across from the fruit bowl painting. _Apparently, Salazar Slytherin wanted easy access to the kitchens_, he thought to himself. The snake (which marked the entrance of the passage) was very poorly carved; anyone else would take it for an odd crack…but then again, this was _Hogwarts_. Odd cracks simply did not _exist_ without a distinct purpose. Wizards, Harry concluded as he stepped inside, must therefore be blind and oblivious to the world around them if they missed _so_ many obvious clues.

:~:

November grew colder and colder as the days passed. Harry took to wearing multiple layers and a scarf around his neck at all times (this had the convenient side effect of hiding bruises he got from bullying). The dungeons were frigid to the point where he could see his breath in the air, and Harry grumbled about wizards, magic, and _still_ a lack of warmth.

"It isn't like there aren't heating spells," he groused to himself as he roamed around the lower dungeons again. This area was highly unexplored, for the lower dungeons were a maze of passages and it was very easy to get lost. Sebastian had a great sense of direction and that was the only reason Harry had decided to wander around down here. Well, aside from the fact that _no one_, not even his Head of House, Filch, or Mrs. Norris came down this far, despite the fact that it was _way_ past curfew.

"You'd think that the Headmaster, being the all powerful wizard he is, would be capable of making the dungeons warm enough to live in, but _no_." More grumbling to himself.

To his utter disbelief, and horror, the air around him suddenly grew warmer. He froze, not daring to move an inch, as the air continued to heat up, until he could feel the tip of his nose again. Then, the mysterious heat stopped.

Harry remained unmoving for quite a long time, but nothing stirred either behind or before him (or to either side, below, or above…he was paranoid enough to remember to check). He slowly staggered over to the nearest wall and slumped against it, sliding down to the floor and breathing hard.

_What in Hell just happened?_ He thought frantically to himself, his mind crawling with shock.

"_Amigo, are you alright? What jussst happened?"_

"_I don't know,"_ he hissed back, _"Good God…Ssseb, did you sssee anyone…anything?"_

"_No amigo."_

Still reeling at the mysterious occurrence, Harry leaned his head back against the wall.

_*__**Better?**__*_

Harry shrieked (out loud, to his later embarrassment), causing Sebastian to unwind himself in a flash and turn into his enormous boa constrictor form.

"_Amigo?"_

Harry, breathing quite loudly, searched frantically around to see where the…voice…had come from. He was hesitant to call it that, because it wasn't so much words spoken as an idea felt.

"Who…_what_…?" he croaked, unable to comprehend.

Soft laughter filtered through his mind, along with an image of a castle with four young people standing in front of it.

And suddenly, Harry understood. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to, and his mind was having a hard time trying to convince himself that he wasn't going crazy from sleep deprivation, but Harry did realize what was "talking" to him.

Hogwarts.

It wasn't possible, really. _Hogwarts: A History_ said over and over that, although it was rumored the castle was sentient, it was incapable of thought or speech. Yet Harry had been presented with the evidence of both.

"Did, did you do this?" he stuttered, waving his hand in the warmer air.

_*__**Yes**__*_

"_Amigo, who are you talking to?"_ Sebastian asked in a worried voice. Harry supposed he was behaving oddly, as he appeared to be conversing with thin air.

"_Ssseb, I think I'm talking to Hogwartsss…"_

"_The cassstle?"_

"…"

Again, laughter in his mind. Harry, deciding in for a penny, in for a pound, asked:

"So, sir or lady, you can…_talk_?" He was rather unsure as to how to address the ancient castle, but he wasn't willing to risk being impolite.

A flurry of images and thoughts assaulted his mind, causing Harry to grip his head at the onslaught of a sudden headache. The images and thoughts suddenly stopped.

_*__**Sorry**__*_

Harry tried to puzzle through what he'd just seen.

"You can only use very basic words. You can't form sentences, though you can understand them. Instead, you communicate through feelings and images." He announced slowly.

A tingle of joy swept through him, and Harry felt him mind engulfed in what felt like a brief hug.

"And it appears," he continued with a sigh, "That it is _you_ that's been the little 'voice' in the back of my mind."

_*__**Yes**__*_

"_Umm…amigo?"_

"And apparently, Sebastian can't hear you."

_*__**No**__*_

"Joy" he grumbled, leaning his head back against the wall again.

"_Well, Sssebassstian, it appearsss asss though I'm either going crazy, or I'm actually talking to a cassstle. Which, do you think, isss worssse?"_

The image of the word 'crazy' appeared in Harry mind, surrounded by a big red circle with a line through it.

"Not crazy, hey? And I thought that was a muggle symbol?"

A new flurry of images of various people who appeared to be confused and delighted by the simplest bits of magic. Harry recognized a couple of them, including Hermione Granger.

"Ahh, you get muggle stuff from muggleborns. On that note, do you 'learn' things because you listen to all the students?"

_*__**Yes**__*_

Harry nodded thoughtfully, watching as Sebastian tried to absorb what he'd said previously.

"_You know, amigo, it'sss rather difficult to follow a one sssided conversssation."_

"_Sssorry, Ssseb."_

"_Not your fault."_

The image of a person saying "not your fault" (complete with sound) echoed through his mind at the exact same time. Harry blinked as a realization that should have struck him earlier finally hit.

"Wait, how can you understand parseltongue?"

A new blizzard of images. They started with a young man who—surprisingly enough—looked somewhat similar to Harry, only older and appearing to be from the 1940's, based on his dress style. He hissed at a sink in a bathroom and it dropped down to reveal a large pipe. Another person, this time a young woman from a previous era (Harry didn't recognize exactly where her dress came from, but it was before 1900) conversing in hisses with a portrait.

More images, coming quicker and quicker, young men and women, boys and girls, throughout the ages, hissing at various parts of the school or at pet snakes. They blurred together, until Harry couldn't tell which was which, before suddenly stopping.

Harry turned this last image over in his mind. It was a young man, with startling green eyes, running his hand along the wall of the castle fondly as he strode down the corridor.

"Hurry up, Sal!" a voice echoed through the stonework, and the young man grinned, picking up his stride.

"Oh for the sake of grace, Godric, we'll be on time for dinner! Always thinking with your stomach," 'Sal' replied in a light, lilting voice, rounding the corridor and grinning at another young man, this one with a shock of red hair. _The Founders,_ Harry thought with disbelieving awe, and he felt Hogwarts swirl with emotions regarding these two people.

"What took you so long?" _Godric Gryffindor_ asked curiously, as the two headed down the corridor.

"I was just conversing with our lady," _Salazar Slytherin_ replied, running his fingers once more along the wall of the castle and making it clear who he was talking about.

"Sal, you know that Hogwarts, as a castle, is neither male nor female," Godric commented with a grin.

"Nonsense, such a beautiful castle _must_ be female," Salazar said archly. The castle wall glowed briefly under his hand, and he turned a smug expression on his companion.

"Flatterer," Godric murmured, leaning over and kissing Salazar quickly, but firmly, on the mouth, before the two entered the Great Hall.

The memory ended.

"Wait," Harry said, reeling at the implications of what he'd just seen, "So not only were Salazar and Godric friends, like the Sorting Hat said, but they were also _lovers_?"

He felt the tingle just before Hogwarts sent images into his mind and his eyes widened.

"No WAIT! I don't want to _see_ it!"

The tingle went away, and Harry sighed with relief. Crisis averted and potential scaring for life momentarily set aside. A thought jolted him and he briefly wondered how much…well…pornography Hogwarts had from watching students all the time. He quickly decided he didn't want to know.

"So why do Slytherins and Gryffindors now hate each other?"

Hogwarts gave the mental equivalent of a shrug.

"May I call you 'my lady'?"

_*Nod* _along with something that felt like a hug.

Apparently, the castle liked the term. But then again, it clearly loved the Founders, and if the phrase reminded it of Salazar, well…

"_Amigo, we're going to have to work sssomething out. I can't keep missssing out on half of thisss…fassscinating….conversssation."_

"_Sssorry, Ssseb. Give me a moment?"_

"Lady, can I talk to you in my mind, instead of out loud?"

_*__**Yes**__*_ followed by a series of arrows bending in different directions, all ending up pointing to a castle.

"But I have to direct the thought at you?"

_*__**Yes**__*_

"Is it possible for you to reply to Sebastian at the same time you reply to me?"

_*__**No, sorry**__*_

"_Sssorry, Ssseb. It can't do anything about it."_

"_Oh well, amigo. Jussst sssummarize the thingsss when you're not talking to the cassstle."_

"_Will do"_

Harry rose from his position against the wall and began walking down the corridor once more.

_**Lady,**_he thought at the castle, feeling a tingle of joy that was not his own (apparently, it worked), _**I really appreciate that you heated up the air around me, but when I go back up to the regular part of the castle, it's going to have to stop.**_

_*__**Why**__*_

_**I can't have anyone noticing that I'm a walking bubble of hot air. And although I complain a lot about how cold it is, if the entire dungeons suddenly warmed up without the teachers doing anything…**_

_*__**Oh**__*_

_**So…what else can you tell me about the Founders?**_

:~:

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

The dungeons got steadily colder. Harry was thankful for Potions, because it gave him an excuse to be near a fire (he didn't dare compete for those prized places in the Slytherin common room, not while his housemates still weren't talking to him). He devoted hours of his study time to researching stronger and stronger heating spells in the library, in hopes that one of these mornings he wouldn't wake up half frozen, stiff with cold, with Sebastian nearly strangling him due to how tightly he wrapped himself around Harry's torso.

On one morning like this, Harry idly mused on what would happen if he got hypothermia. Perhaps the staff would _finally_ put up heating charms, so he could have an excuse for Hogwarts to warm him…although he was getting closer and closer to just taking the castle up on its offer.

Classes were a waste of time. The students—first years especially—babbled on and on about what Christmas was like at _their_ homes and what _they_ hoped to receive as gifts. When the sign-up lists (for those who were staying at Hogwarts) came around, Harry realized that he was one of the two Slytherins remaining behind. The other was a seventh year who wanted to study for the NEWTs and didn't believe he could accomplish this at home. Then again, if Harry had had any other option, he wasn't sure he'd want to stay in the freezing dungeons, either. Going to the Dursleys, though, was infinitely worse.

Harry wasn't looking forward to the holidays with the same thrilling enthusiasm as his classmates, but he was anticipating that this year would be better than all previous ones (not that that was very hard). He would be able to spend nearly unlimited time in the library. He really hoped to finish the Founders' Book on magic over the break, and to do that, he'd need a lot of quiet time to study.

So the month of December passed quickly for the castle. The students gossiped and chattered, going more and more stir-crazy as the days went by. The teachers went nuts trying (and failing) to keep the students focused on the topic—well, except for Professor Snape: no one would _dare_ gossip in his class. Hagrid brought in enormous Christmas trees to fill the Great Hall and Professor Flitwick spent hours charming Christmas ornaments onto them (Harry spent hours watching him, taking notes on what spells he used, and then practicing them. Not that he wanted to know how to make Christmas ornaments, but one never knows when a spell like that might become useful).

Before he knew it, the holidays were on them, and Harry was—for once in his life—happy and content. He had two friends to talk to (ignoring the fact that one was an ancient castle and the other was a snake), unlimited free time (it's not like curfew actually _applied_ to him anymore), and nearly all the students were gone (it didn't feel like he was being ignored when there was no one there to do the ignoring. The seventh year really didn't count—he was, after all, studying). Yes, this holiday would be something special.

* * *

"Albus, you need to do something about this," Irma Pince announced as she walked into the staff meeting, three days after the students had left. The staff members were slumped over various pieces of furniture (with the exception of Severus, who simply didn't _slump_), thoroughly enjoying the lack of cretins in the castle—or at least, that's what the potions master had said upon arrival. After dealing with them for the past month, most of the staff was willing to let it side, if not completely agree with him.

"What's the problem, Irma?" Albus asked in that soft, omnipotent way of his—although the effect was rather lost around the candy cane he had in his mouth.

"It's Mr. Potter. You have to talk to the boy or something," the librarian said with a sigh, sinking into an armchair and gratefully accepting a glass of spiked eggnog from Minerva. Dear Merlin, two weeks until Christmas, and the Deputy Headmistress was already adding alcohol to the drinks—who knew what would happen the closer they got to that sugar induced holiday. She shuttered at the thought of the remaining students on a sugar high. Then again, maybe it was best they were spiking things this early. "This is really going too far," she added.

The staff spent a moment blinking at her statement.

"What, did he do something?" Minerva wondered, in a tone reminiscent of James Potter's days at Hogwarts.

"Oh, no. The child's absolutely fine…I'm just a little worried about him."

"Why?" Poppy asked, looking as though she were itching to get her hands on him and tuck him into an infirmary bed for a week. She acted this way around all the students, but Harry Potter hadn't slipped up and gotten himself injured yet; thus, with him, she hadn't fulfilled this dream.

"Well…it's not normal, is it, for eleven-year-old boys to spend their every waking moment in the library? I mean, he's there when I open it in the morning and he leaves when I close it. He only takes breaks for meals, and not even that, sometimes. And it's not like it's just been the last three days, either," she added, seeing the disbelieving expressions on the staff, "He does it every weekend and whenever he doesn't have class. I don't mind the child being in there—he treats the books better than anyone else and is absolutely silent, half the time I don't even know he's there—but, well, he has absolutely no social life."

Silence. Severus sighed inaudibly. He had been observing the boy over the past month and had noticed what Irma pointed out: the child didn't have any friends. It was even greater than that: no one would talk to him at all. It was as if he simply didn't exist, outside of the class work he turned in. It was also, needless to say, not the expected image for the Boy-Who-Lived.

Severus had been more than a slightly startled when the little brat had signed up to stay for the holidays. No one willingly stayed in the dungeons (except for that seventh year, but as he had NEWTs and numerous, sugar obsessed siblings, it was understandable). Not for the first time, Severus wondered what the boy's home-like was like. The kid wasn't normal.

"Care to offer any insight into this problem, Severus?" the Headmaster asked, a hint of concern making itself known around the candy cane.

"None," the potions master replied, to the staff's astonishment. Severus always noticed something they had not. "The boy won't talk to me and I can't seem to corner him, no matter how many times I know he's out after curfew."

"So put him in detention for it and find out then" Sydney muttered, "It's not as if you're not dying to do so anyway."

"I can't prove it," Severus admitted, as though it pained him, "He's found some way to bypass the alarm on the common room."

"You put an alarm on your common room?" Pomona demanded, incensed.

"If you had caught as many 'midnight rendezvous' as I have, you would do so as well."

"Please, if we could focus on the problem…" Albus attempted to return order while simultaneously trying to un-stick his candy cane from his beard.

"Oh for the love of Merlin," Minerva groaned, flicking her wand in his direction. The candy cane became un-stuck. Albus beamed at her.

"Why thank you, my dear. Now, we shall attempt to talk to Mr. Potter about his lack of friends and encourage him to interact with his fellow classmates. Irma, I'd appreciate it if you would shoo Mr. Potter out of the library after a few hours every day. That would do for a start. And Severus, my dear boy, please try to engage him in some form of conversation. Peppermint, anyone?"

"No thank you, Albus," Leonardo said, rising quickly and dragging Severus after him, followed by a snickering Sydney. At being called 'my dear boy', the potions master had developed an expression that somehow conveyed the possibility of assassinating the Headmaster with a quill. Not wanting to put Severus's creative genius to the test, Leo thought it was best to vacate the premises as soon as possible.

* * *

In hindsight, Harry realized that he should have known the holidays were the perfect time for the teachers to notice his isolation and decide to do something about it. They had no other projects to work on, and must have finally opened their eyes and concluded that socializing Harry Potter would be a fantastic holiday present.

Unfortunately for them, Harry was not at all appreciative of their efforts and most unwilling to cooperate. Equally unfortunate, he had an intelligent snake and a sentient castle on his side.

Really, it was no wonder they failed in their goal so horribly.

The 'war' started the fourth day of Christmas Break. Harry was in the library, struggling through the Founders' Book, with a scroll of notes beside him (and 24 feet of that already taken up by miniscule writing). Thus, he was startled when the librarian, who normally left him alone, came over and insisted he go out and play.

"I'm sorry, Madam Pince, but I'd rather read." Harry said quietly. The librarian would not be deterred.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, that I must insist you leave. It isn't healthy for a boy your age to spend all your time cooped up over a book. Now, shoo."

_Right, because it's healthy to be beaten to a pulp by the upperclassmen and my relatives. Oh well…_Harry was rather annoyed with her, but decided to leave without a fuss. Better to show that he was compliant with orders. It wouldn't do for them to think he had no respect for authority anymore.

Harry packed away his book, notes, quill, and (although Madam Pince didn't see it) his snake, who had taken advantage of a practiced heating charm on a chair and was curled up napping. With minor grumbling, Sebastian re-curled himself around Harry's torso under his robes and went back to sleep. Harry left the library quietly.

He was not surprised to see one of the staff—his astronomy teacher, actually—patrolling the corridor directly outside. He waited until her back was turned, then snuck in the opposite direction as fast as he could, barely avoiding another professor coming down a perpendicular corridor.

_Dear God, they really want to talk to me for some reason. So, a game of hide-and-seek it is. Pity that they don't stand a chance._

_**My lady, I need a minor distraction**_**, **he asked Hogwarts very politely; he wasn't sure that it wanted to be brought into this battle—after all, the staff did rank higher than him in the castle's hierarchy.

The castle's mischievous laughter echoed around him, reassuring his doubt. Oh yes, the teachers had no hope of winning this game with the castle itself on his side.

Professor Astley—who taught Ancient Runes—suddenly tripped over what appeared to be thin air. Cursing Peeves, he turned and glared back the way he had come, allowing Harry to slide up to the wall and duck behind a tapestry.

Harry quickly hissed the password to the snake passage and slipped in. He listened intently to the corridor, and was rewarded for his efforts.

* * *

After looking around for the poltergeist, Sydney continued on his way to the library. The staff had elected that he speak to Potter first, as he had a rather easy going personality and, unlike Leo, didn't tend to put his foot in his mouth. He was a little surprised when he ran into Aurora.

"What are you—"

"Oh, Albus asked me to wait around out here and follow the boy when he left the library."

"Isn't Irma supposed to have kicked him out by now?"

"Why don't we—"

A new voice entered the conversation.

"Yes, and I did so. Aren't you two supposed to be talking to him, now?"

"You mean he already left?" Aurora asked in astonishment. She'd been paying rather close attention, or so she'd thought.

"Yes, just a minute ago."

Sydney cursed softly. That meant he was responsible for missing the kid too. Severus was never going to let him live this down.

"Thanks Irma," he said gloomily. The potions master had told him over and over that the kid was impossible to catch in the corridors. The librarian returned to her beloved books and Aurora and Sydney shared a hopeless glance.

"Right, you go this way and I'll go that way. Maybe we'll find him and Severus won't laugh at us too much."

They split up.

* * *

Harry stifled giggles at his professors' hopeless tone. To think, he was causing the staff at Hogwarts to run around the castle like mad rabbits looking for him. Well, it was time to hide in the one place they'd never expect him to be—after all, unless one was capable of using the snake passages, it was impossible to sneak into the library without Madam Pince noticing. She probably had a proximity ward on the door.

He crept along the passage and through two more to reroute to the back of the library.

_**Any idea why the staff are trying to talk to me?**_ he asked the castle.

Hogwarts sent him a flurry of images, all picturing the staff with concern written on their features. It halted on an image of the staff room with the librarian commenting on his lack of a social life.

_**You have to be kidding me. They're only doing something about that **_**now**_**? But it's been going on all year!**_

*Shrug*

_**And they think I'll talk to them?**_

Another image, this one of Professor Snape saying: "The boy won't talk to me and I can't seem to corner him, no matter how many times I know he's out after curfew".

_Point to Professor Snape_, Harry thought. Really, the man was too intelligent for his own good. Harry would have to be _really_ careful to not run into him in the future.

_**And so now that my Head of House can't talk to me, they've decided to take it on themselves?**_

Another image. This time, it was the Headmaster, saying, "My dear boy, the child simply needs a helping hand. I'm sure we'll work out all the problems and he'll be happily making friends before too long; I just need to find an excuse to invite him up to my office."

This proved to be too much. Harry slid down the wall of the passage, sticking his fist into his mouth and hurriedly casting a silencing charm on himself so he wouldn't alert anyone in the corridor. Then, he completely broke down laughing.

After he managed to recover, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, he started back towards the library.

_**Thanks, my lady. I needed that.**_

Hogwarts wrapped him in a mental hug.

Harry set up his study area directly outside the door to the snake passage. If he had to make a quick get-away, he didn't want to have to twist and turn through the shelves. Hogwarts seemed to be doing its best to help him hide from the librarian, and the bookcases rearranged themselves into an impassible maze around his small study area. No one, student, teacher, or librarian, would be able to find him unless they were lost beyond belief. And even then, they wouldn't be able to get to him without knocking over a few bookcases. Yes, it was perfect.

Harry rearranged the table and three chairs to suit his needs, then cast a rather powerful heating charm on a cushion. He placed the cushion on a chair and Sebastian on the cushion. The snake woke up at the change of environment and demanded to know why they were back in the library, when they had so obviously been kicked out.

"_Honessstly, Sssebassstian, ssshe told me to get out, not ssstay out! If her inssstructionsss could be interpreted different than ssshe intended, then ssshe ssshould have been more ssspecific."_

He then proceeded to retell his 'daring escape' from the two teacher-stalkers. Sebastian was quite put out to know he'd missed it.

"_Next time, amigo, wake me up!"_

Harry agreed, before suddenly going silent. This part of the library was particularly dark (aside from his faint lumos spell), yet a flickering light—that of a candle—was approaching. _She can't have found us already…_but the light was too high to be that of one held by a librarian.

Suddenly, a candle stalked through the air over a bookcase. Harry's mouth dropped open, and he knew Sebastian wore a similar expression. The puddle of wax at the bottom of the candle formed two foot-like projections, which moved in over-exaggerated tip-toe strides through the air. Tiny facial features seemed to be molded near flame and, when it saw Harry gaping at it, a spindly arm—complete with five tiny fingers—detached itself from the stem and waved cheekily at him.

The candle settled itself down in an iron bracket on the wall, next to the snake passage.

Harry blinked in utter bewilderment. He distantly heard Hogwarts snickering at his reaction and rightfully concluded that the candles were moving over to him based on the castle's directions. That still didn't explain what just happened.

He'd been around magic for quite some time now. He probably knew more spells than any other first year (and even a lot of the third years), he could heal almost any wound he received, he probably knew more of Hogwarts than any other person alive…he'd seen unbelievable impossibilities (from the muggle perspective), from turning desks into pigs to flying on brooms. But never, _never_ had he imagined that candles could not only 'walk' through air, but also appear to have a personality of their own. He gaped in shock.

It didn't help his state of mind when five more crept over the bookcases and situated themselves around his study area.

Finally, as the minutes began to drag on, Harry shook himself and began unpacking his notes and books once more.

_**Thank you, although a little warning would be nice next time,**_ he told Hogwarts, while thanking the candles out loud. The castle snickered again, and Harry decided to ignore it in favor of getting more work done.

:~:

For the rest of the week, the intent game of 'hide-and-seek' that Harry and the teachers were playing escalated. It got to the point where he stopped going to the library altogether in order to avoid the inevitable ambush that waited outside the doors for him (well, legally at least. He actually spent most of his time in the study area Hogwarts had created for him in the library. But the staff didn't need to know that.).

He avoided the Great Hall like the plague, going so far as to skip two days worth of food before Sebastian yelled at him and he remembered the kitchens.

Unfortunately for the staff, they were unaware of his second sanctuary.

* * *

"Arghhh! That little brat is _impossible_! And quit snickering, Severus, it isn't funny," Sydney complained as he stormed into the staff meeting. The staff didn't bother to ask who he was talking about—they were all here to discuss one particular individual.

"I'll agree, I've never seen such good evasive tactics before in my life. If that kid decides to join the aurors, he'll pass his stealth test hands down. I think the most I've seen of him in the past few days was the swish of a cloak as he sped around a corner. Of course, by the time I got there, he was out of sight again." Leo exclaimed, being the only person on the staff to find the challenge of catching the elusive Boy-Who-Lived entertaining. Everyone else was getting steadily pissed off.

"You know, Severus, when you said he avoided you and you couldn't corner him, I didn't really believe you…until now," Filius found the situation enlightening, and lamented again the fact that the child wasn't in his house. The boy must be using stealth charms, and with the freezing one he used at Halloween…the kid had so much potential. Yet, like the potions master, he couldn't corner the boy long enough to discuss it.

Severus managed to refrain from saying "I told you so" to the staff as they complained, but it was a near thing.

The Headmaster, he noted with utter annoyance, was sucking on another candy cane. Honestly, there were times that he greatly wanted to snatch that cavity-evoking stick out of the man's mouth and shove it—

"_Severus_," Minerva said, in a tone that implies this wasn't the first time she'd called his name. His eyes jerked over to meet hers, and she shook her head in slight disapproval, although he could read a similar longing in her eyes. How on _earth_ did that woman always know what he was thinking about…especially when he was contemplating murdering the Headmaster? His Occlumency shields were up and everything. It was bloody infuriating!

"Now, now," Albus finally turned his attention away from the candy and to the discussion, "I'm sure that Harry will realize how much a long talk will help his mind…he'll come to us!"

Severus's eyebrows shot up. Minerva sighed—a long, much-put-upon sigh. Filius snickered. Some people shook their heads. Pomona decided to shatter the Headmaster's illusions.

"No, Albus, I don't believe that Mr. Potter will come to us. How long has it been since you seriously interacted with adolescents? They refuse to talk about _anything_ that's bothering them…especially teenage boys."

"Hmm, well if you say so. We'll simply have to try harder. If things don't improve by Christmas, I'll invite him up for a chat. Now, would anyone care for a Pfeffernüsse?"

He proffered a basket of round biscuit-like-things.

"A _what_?" Minerva demanded, shooting a reproving glare at Rolanda (who was the current one responsible for keeping the Headmaster from acquiring new sweets).

"A Pfeffernüsse. They're very good." Albus sighed blissfully as he bit into one.

Severus left the room as quickly as possible, hearing Minerva and Poppy begin to rant at the Headmaster about cavities and the problems sweets tended to have on one's health.

He had a theory about Potter that he wanted to check out, and while the staff was otherwise occupied would be a perfect time.

* * *

Harry could have smacked himself as he walked through the snake passages (his main mode of transportation over the holidays) towards the kitchens. Honestly, he'd found the kitchens ages ago, and the house elves had practically forced food on him last time. He couldn't believe that he'd starved himself for two days before remembering this fact.

Although _starved_ was a bit of an exaggeration. Really, at the Dursleys' he'd had it far worse. Still, it wouldn't do to keep avoiding meals, even in the name of research. And besides, sooner or later he'd have to make an appearance in the Great Hall, and he'd rather do it when he wouldn't have to worry about fainting from hunger.

He slipped out of the snake passage (although not before looking around to make sure no one was watching) and approached the fruit bowl painting. He tickled the pear and slinked inside, causing the least amount of noise as possible. _Good, the house elves haven't noticed me yet_.

Harry glanced around, looking for a good place to sit, eat, _and_ continue to do research. His eyes slid over a table in a dark corner and he frowned. Normally he would have sat at that one, as it was an easy place to hide and slip into the shadows, but for some reason, he didn't want to go over there. _How…odd._ He continued to scan the room, his eyes flicking over the spot a few more times, each time being diverted away. _Well that's…interesting._

Moving in the opposite direction of the table, Harry eventually settled himself down near a different corner, one that was not immediately visible from the door. His movement attracted the house elves, and they bounced over, asking what they could get him. He didn't particularly mind the commotion—it helped distract from the fact that he was eyeing the corner again. Survival rule, number who-knows-what:

_Trust your instincts. If they tell you something's off, listen to them._

_Don't draw attention to the fact that you've noticed something odd._

After a few moments of very careful, very discrete observation, he reasoned that the 'whatever-it-was' wouldn't bother him in a room full of devoted house elves. Too many witnesses. So, eating the food said creatures had made for him, he returned to the Founders' Book and his research on magic. He briefly pressed Seb to warn him that they had company, and then proceeded to get to work.

* * *

Severus was actually rather impressed. The brat had managed to stay in the kitchens for a whole three minutes before being noticed by the house elves. He wasn't even sure _he_ could accomplish that, though he'd never tried.

And then there was the fact that the little monster had noticed him. Well, the boy clearly didn't know _what _he'd noticed; he'd have high-tailed it out of there if he thought a teacher was in the room.

Severus, although initially surprised that his invisibility and notice-me-not ward appeared to fail when confronted by the brat, realized quickly that the boy couldn't actually see _through_ the ward, he just noticed something was there.

The potions master had scoffed when the boy turned and walked away, apparently dismissing his misgivings. However, he caught himself as the brat—while conversing with the house elves—very subtly eyed the corner where he was sitting once more. If Severus hadn't been looking for it, if he hadn't been a spy who'd trained himself to find moves like this, he would never have noticed.

He sank back into his chair, watching as the boy pulled out a book and pressed a hand to his side for a moment. He wondered if the boy had managed to get injured.

His eyebrows rose as the brat pulled out a very thick scroll that was filled with writing and watched as he proceeded to read the book and scribble notes, all the while eating with his other hand. _Ambidextrous, are we, Mr. Potter? And why hasn't this come out in class?_

He continued to observe the boy for a long time…long after Potter finished eating, although the boy seemed reluctant to move. _He's probably quite aware of the fact that the teachers are hunting him all over the school. Yes, better to stay where they defiantly won't look for you than risk being found. After all, who would expect a first year to find the kitchens before Christmas? _

Finally, noticing that the boy's notes appeared to have stilled and that he was reading the same page spread over and over again, Severus decided it was time.

_And now, Mr. Potter, we need to have a little conversation.

* * *

_

Harry stared intently at the page in front of him. There was no way he was translating this right. He really wished he had his dictionary with him, but he'd forgotten it in his room. He blinked. Nope, there was no way this was a correct translation.

The Founders' Book was proving to be a fascinating read. The book started off with chapter after chapter explaining the basics of magic, including current theories (well, of that time) of where it came from, how it was passed down from generation to generation, and how it actually worked in the body. As the Founders were from pre-1000, they didn't have the greatest knowledge on how the human body worked, but their theories on how magic flowed in the body and what it was tied to were very interesting.

Then there were a whole three chapters dedicated to different types of meditation, along with detailed explanations of why a person would like one form over another. There was a section on mind-reading, how _that_ worked, and the advice to simply avoid looking into anyone's eyes unless you were confident in you shields (though what they meant by that Harry hadn't found out yet).

There were more chapters on why Latin was the language behind most spells (it was the most widely know language at the time people began to write them down, and although the main language had changed since then, the spell itself had remained in Latin). Another few focused on why wand movements worked.

And then the book turned to wands, how they were made, how they differed from staffs, why the ingredients of a wand were important, and more besides. The book discussed things Harry had never heard of in relation to real magic, like focus crystals and stones, holy water, the different effects of metals on spells and magic creatures, the power of religious symbols, etc.

It was utterly fascinating.

However, now Harry had finally uncovered a topic that he'd been taught—his whole Hogwarts career—was wrong.

In Hogwarts, he (and all the other first years) learned that exact pronunciation of a spell and perfect wand movement was necessary to make a spell work. This was then drilled into their heads for the next seven years, and even more, if one decided to master in something. A wizard could get the general effect while botching one of the two necessities, but to get the _exact_ result, said wizard must use the correct spells and movement. Harry had even read about people who could cast silently _and_ wandlessly (like Dumbledore). However, they still had to think the spell they wanted to use.

The Founders' Book claimed that this was entirely incorrect—in fact, it was the most misunderstood topic in all of magic. People knew wizards needed spells to do magic. People knew wizards needed a wand to cast said spells. Very powerful people might be able to get away with not using a wand, but they still needed the spells, and it helped if they made the wand movements with, let's say, a finger or the entire wrist.

This chapter in the book, though, said that these were _not_ necessary. The wand was there to entice a wizard's magic in the direction the wizard wanted it to go. It acted like a giant magnet, pulling the magic in a wizard's body down through his/her arm and expelling it out the tip in a single point of focus. If the wizard could figure out how to cause this effect without the wand (say, causing magic to flow to a point at the tip of a finger), then the wand was unnecessary.

Furthermore, spells really didn't matter. The words were just that—words. Translating them resulted in a series of commands, as if the wizard was ordering magic around. "Freeze" or "make hard" or "expel", etc. As spells worked in any language (another fact that Harry hadn't known before, but it made sense), _Latin_ was unnecessary to make the spell work. Thinking a basic command would do and a wizard could do that easily enough in their own native language.

And why stop there? Why bother to think the word at all? Wasn't it the end result that the wizard wanted? The book argued further. And if words weren't necessary, then all a wizard needed was a clear idea of what s/he wanted. Let the magic do its work. Instead of saying a specific spell to get a specific protection shield, just shield yourself from whatever was coming at you at that particular time. Make it more specific as necessary.

The idea was absolutely fascinating, and held so many possibilities. Yet, it went against _everything_ that Harry had learned so far. He'd never come across anything remotely like this. Therefore, he sincerely believed he'd translated the pages wrong, as that was the only explanation as to _why_ everyone bothered to learn spells instead of meditation.

As Sebastian and Hogwarts assured him later, it was no wonder he didn't notice Professor Snape until the man was only five feet from him. Even as absorbed as he was, though, _no one_ could get closer to him than that without setting off his sixth sense. That the professor had gotten that close spoke of the man's ability to move stealthily.

Harry jerked back from the potions master, sinking deeply over his book and farther into the corner, his eyes darting around warily. Professor Snape appeared to notice his reaction and instead of approaching the boy further, he settled down across the table from him. He stared at him.

Harry refused to meet his eyes, instead focusing on the table where the man's folded hands rested. His research on mind-reading came rushing back, and he had no desire to find out the hard way that Professor Snape was capable of doing such. He stared resolutely at the table, fingering his book nervously. Which, in hindsight, was probably not such a good idea.

* * *

The boy wouldn't look at him. Severus supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, but he still (apparently) expected Potter to show some…well…_Potter_ characteristics. And being a defiant Gryffindor and meeting everyone's gaze arrogantly was one of them.

_Ahh, but this Potter is in Slytherin. Maybe for a good reason after all._

He had to admit, he had not expected the brat to react the way he did to his approach. He'd been convinced that the boy had given up on reading—no one read the same few pages over and over again, not for twenty minutes, at least. However, it was apparent that the Potter brat actually _was_ focused on the text. He wouldn't have jumped like that if he'd noticed Severus's approach.

Come to think of it, the fact that the boy _had_ noticed him before being spoken to or touched was rather surprising. It appeared that the brat had developed a sense as to when people were within arms-length of his person. And Severus _really_ didn't like the implications of that thought. It wasn't something one generally found outside of Slytherin…and even then it was only in a select few situations, none of which were appealing scenarios.

And now the boy was staring fixedly at his hands. No, Severus didn't like this at all. Any other place on the table would have been fine, but to stare at his hands implied that the boy expected him to—

_No, don't think about it. You might be reading this wrong_, he told himself firmly, _There's no real reason to expect the boy's abused. Just…little, tiny reasons all strung together._ Well, that didn't help.

Unwilling to continue sitting there in silence (they'd been at it for at least five minutes), Severus decided to start a…_conversation_…of all things. He decided to focus on the book the boy was fiddling with nervously.

_Merlin help me, I'm actually following the Headmaster's advice._

"What are you reading?"

* * *

Unfortunately for Severus, out of all the conversation topics that he could have picked, this one was the worst. Harry had long since decided not to tell _anyone_ about the Founders' Book—not, of course, that he had anyone to tell anyway—and thus made the decision to stall for as long as possible. If the Professor dug furhter into the matter, he'd say it was personal and hope the man would leave it at that. Probably not, but it was worth a try.

"A book about magic theory," Harry replied uncommunicatively. Well, it _was_ the truth…the book _was_ called …An Complet Studaire of _Magyk_Theoria. Just, not the entire truth.

"And what are you learning about?" a note of impatience entered the professor's voice.

"The necessity of spells and wands," _or lack thereof_, he added silently to himself, resolutely not lifting his eyes from the table. He could almost hear his professor sigh in exasperation at his answer. All books on magic theory stressed these necessities. Harry was literally giving him nothing to work with.

"And _what_, specifically, makes this book different from all others on the topic?" complete annoyance now filled his professor's voice. Oh, he _so_ did not want to continue this conversation.

_Well, Professor,_ he thought dryly to himself, _It claims that the 'necessities' are not, actually, necessary. Rather revolutionizes magic, doesn't it. And just think, this was published _how_ many years ago?_

Harry didn't reply. His professor sighed again and leaned over, snagging the book from under his hand. Harry winced. He was never going to get that book back (well, and his palm was raw and skinned from tripping and skidding it along the stonework. He hadn't gotten around to healing it yet).

"A Comprehensive Description of Magical Theory," read his Head of House, to Harry's utter disbelief, "Not bad for a beginner book on theory, although I find it doesn't do the topic justice at all." He handed the book back to Harry, who was doing his best to mask his bewilderment. If the book was enchanted to not allow anyone else to realize what it was, he didn't want to alert them to the fact.

_*__**Sorry**__*_

Along with an image of a person saying "Should have warned you."

Now, the picture didn't exactly fit the situation (it was of someone blowing up a potion—or rather, the after effects of said explosion), but Harry got the general idea.

_**Next time, that would be appreciated.**_

He then realized he'd missed what the Professor had just said. _Shit._

Hogwarts sent him another image—a replay of the scene that had happened a few seconds ago. While composing an answer to his teacher's question, Harry idly made a note to check out this particular feature of the castle. It might prove to be very useful in the future.

* * *

The conversation with Potter was getting steadily more bizarre. For one thing, the brat _still_ wouldn't look at him, even when he asked him a question. And for another, said brat was still focusing on his hands.

This presented two ideas, both disturbing. Severus, despite his conscious effort to not believe it, was starting to think the boy really _was_ abused. That in itself was not good, but he had a feeling that the fixed downward gaze was more than just shy, cowed behavior.

It was as if the boy was deliberately not looking him in the eye.

Which meant he knew about Legitimacy.

Which brooked the question of _how_ in the name of Merlin did a first year get into that topic.

Which led to the further question of how _much_ did the boy know.

And _why_ on _Earth_ did he suspect Severus of performing it on him.

Not, of course, that Severus hadn't planned on it. Sure, it might not fit the Headmaster's idea of a perfect world, but it worked. Have a nice, unassuming conversation and drag out the necessary secrets out of their mind whenever they look at you. He'd done it to his Slytherins for years—though he had to be careful, as (although they might not be able to do Occlumency) most were purebloods and thus knew about mind-reading.

Potter, on the other hand, should have been easy. The boy should have met his eyes, if for nothing more than to respect a teacher when answering a question. The fact that he hadn't…

Severus resolved to read the boy's library check-out list the moment this conversation was over.

And speaking of books…why did the brat look bewildered when he read off the title of the book? If he hadn't had it in his hands, from the boy's reaction he would have assumed the book had an enchantment spell on the cover to disguise what he was reading. But Severus _knew_ what enchantment spells felt like, and he _knew_ there wasn't one on this book. Very, very odd.

Well, if he couldn't find out from Legitimacy, he might as well just ask what he needed to know. At least he could tell without magic if the brat was lying to him.

"Mr. Potter, would you care to explain to me exactly _why_ you have been going out of your way to avoid every one of the staff…especially me?"

* * *

Harry went through a series of mental gymnastics attempting to compose a suitable answer. _I'm sorry, but there's really nothing you can do to improve my life,_ certainly wouldn't work, and _I really don't like adults at all, as the ones I know tend to beat the snot out of me, among other things,_ was a really, _really_ bad idea. He decided to stick to the short, simple truth.

"I have no desire to talk to people."

This answer (or lack of one) seemed to irritate his professor, but to Harry's surprise, the man remained fairly impassive. If he'd ever dared to do this at the Dursleys, his uncle would have broken a bone or two by this point.

"And why, Mr. Potter, do you not wish to converse with the general populace."

_Well, he certainly has an interesting vocabulary. Now lets see…if I answer "because none of them want to talk to me", then he'll assume I'm a whiny brat. If I say "because books, at least, can't hit me…" that's just a bad idea period. And it would probably be inappropriate to say "because so many lack my intellectual capabilities". And to fail to respond would imply defensiveness. Hmm, this guy is _good_…what to answer._

"Mr. Potter?"

"The question you should be asking is why did they take a sudden interest in me _now_?"

Silence. He let his professor mull over that thought for a while. It wasn't a bad answer—divert the original question while still sticking to the same topic, so it didn't _look_ like he was diverting anything. He'd learned this tactic when dealing with primary school teachers. They had a bad habit of asking nearly the same questions, although theirs were more direct. (_Why don't you have any friends? _Or _Where did you get that bruise?_).

Harry had learned from personal experience that the Dursleys really, _really_ didn't like the social workers to come nosing around, so he'd learned to avoid, divert, deny, and outright lie if necessary—although he hesitated to use that last one. He had a bad habit of running into people who could tell a lie on sight.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, that _is _a fantastic question that I've asked myself these past few days. Why do you think that they're interested?"

Oh yes, this guy was good. He'd make a superb therapist. If Harry hadn't read a god-awful number of books on psychology, he wouldn't be able to fully appreciate what the man was doing.

_Agreeing with me, telling a bit of truth about himself, willingly letting the conversation be redirected…why do I have a feeling that my Head of House (no matter what people seem to think of him) is the resident, unofficial dealer with child abuse?_

"Perhaps because they have nothing better to do?"

_Ok, maybe I shouldn't be that honest. That was a little too harsh.

* * *

_

Severus winced internally at the sheer cynical irony permeating the boy's answer. Oh yes, the staff's inattentiveness had definitely been noticed. He was rather impressed with just how well the boy had changed the topic of conversation; most people would not have realized it was being done. He had, but he let it slide. It was best not to press issues on first contact.

The brat, though, in his quest to avoid answering a troubling question had struck a rather serious note. The staff _hadn't _noticed anything was going on—or if they had (like Severus), they hadn't done anything about it until now, when there were no other students to worry about. Potter had a very legit reason to be cynical; he'd been shown that he was worth less than the other students, no matter how unintentionally.

And if the boy was capable of realizing this, then he was also capable of realizing that they ignored him despite his fame. And _that_ would lead to the conclusion that even _with_ his undeserved fame he was worth less than the others. Which begged the question of: if he didn't have his fame, would they even bother to try and communicate with him when there weren't other things to do? Oh yes, the staff had screwed up exponentially.

"That would make this situation rather aggravating, wouldn't it?" he gave the brat the benefit of the doubt and let some of his understanding through in his voice.

To his surprise, the boy actually glanced up, meeting his eyes for a split second, a slightly crooked grin twitching at the corners of his mouth, before he fixed his eyes resolutely back on the table and, consequently, Severus's hands. _Damn, he's still doing it. Does he really think I'll _hit_ him?_

That spit second of connection was enough to catch the barest glimpse of the boy's thoughts. Unlike most teenagers (and pre-teens), Potter's thought process was highly complex, operating on multiple levels at the same time. Severus had no hope of make any sense of what the boy was thinking without longer eye contact, but he did brush up against the boy's emotions.

_Wariness. Cynicism. A bit of loneliness. Severe Disappointment _(and for some odd reason, Severus got the feeling that this disappointment was how Potter felt about the wizarding world)._ Pain. Distrust. Annoyance. Longing _(for what, though, that was the question).And buried underneath all of this, in a very tiny corner of the boy's mind…_hate._

The overall impression was of something that was once vulnerable (something that had once hoped) and now flat out refused to be.

It was more than a little disturbing.

He resolved to keep an even closer eye on the chi—the boy.

* * *

They fell back into silence. Harry knew, without a doubt, that Professor Snape had slipped into his mind. He resolved to learn how to stop this from _ever _happening again, and to not meet _anyone_'s eyes until that point in time.

Well, that might not work. Although his uncle generally took any eye contact to be defiance, there were times when he wanted Harry to meet his eyes, especially when he—

Harry abruptly shoved the thought to the farthest reaches of his mind. _Do NOT think about it,_ he ordered himself sternly, _Not when there's a _mind-reading _professor sitting across from you!_

"Perhaps," Professor Snape broke the silence, "If you are unwilling to tell me precisely _why_ you don't wish to speak with anyone, you would be so kind as to explain _how_ you manage to evade an entire school filled with professors looking for you?" _Particularly me_ rang unsaid.

Harry grinned, he just couldn't help it. Oh, this guy was good. Very good. Almost made Harry want to congratulate him on his ability manipulate the human psyche. But then, that would let on to the fact that Harry knew what he was doing, and then the professor might change tactics. And he would become much less predictable.

"And lose my only escape routes?" he replied incredulously, innocently. His professor twitched slightly, as if repressing a snort of amusement and rose, wandering over towards the door of the kitchens. Harry watched him go with hooded eyes.

"Very well, Mr. Potter, have it your way. Keep in mind that if you don't talk to anyone before Christmas, the Headmaster intends to invent some excuse to invite you up to his office."

"I spoke to _you_."

"What makes you think I'll say anything?" With that, the potions master left.

_Oh, he's very, very good. A warning, giving me time to prepare, followed by a 'why should I go out of my way to help you?' line, yet at the same time he implies that he won't share your secrets. I wonder how many years it took for him to develop the ability to do this…_

Once the professor had cleared the premises, Harry allowed himself a small smile. He packed up his notes, book, and quill and thanked the house elves (and sent a few of them into tears, but he didn't mind so much this time. He'd researched them in the library and learned that they _lived_ to work, and were not used to being thanked _at all_). He walked slowly over to the door, pausing just before opening it.

Harry pulled out his wand and proceeded to cast ten different spells on his person, smiling once more when he felt one of them dissipate the tracking spell his Head of House had placed on his being.

_Wordless and perhaps wandless, I certainly didn't see it,_ he thought with amusement, heading into the corridor and opting to _not_ take the snake passage. Who knows where the professor was. Instead, he headed to one of the non-parseltongue passageways and slipped inside, quickly moving on into the snake one (which connected from the inside) before anyone could see him. _Maybe there's more truth to this theory than I thought.

* * *

_

Severus, waiting just around the bend of the corridor from the kitchens, felt a slight jolt when the boy undid his tracking spell. He raised an eyebrow, no longer surprised but rather impressed—the counter to this particular spell was in no way easy to perform. He watched the boy leave the kitchens and head to a secret passage (_of course. _That's_ how he's getting around the school…though I know most of them. Wonder why I haven't caught him yet?_).

Severus followed him quickly, though silently. He entered the passage roughly seven seconds after Potter did.

The boy was no where in sight.

The potions master let a genuine grin slide over his face as he continued down the passage, certain that he would not find the boy—probably not see him again for quite a few days.

Oh yes. There was much more to Harry Potter than met the eye.

* * *

Christmas morning dawned, clear and bitterly cold—especially to the residents of the dungeons. Harry woke up shivering violently. He wasted five minutes trying to apply heating charms to his person, but his teeth were chattering too much for him to accomplish this task. Realizing just how bad the situation was, Harry dragged his shaking body from the bed and wrapped the thickest of his blankets around him. His heart nearly stopped when he found Sebastian, an ice cold coil of scales that appeared to be trying to soak up the last drop of warmth from the heating spells Harry had cast the previous night.

Harry gathered his friend close to his chest in hopes that the snake would be all right and stumbled down the corridor into the dark common room. He made his way over to the fire place and pulled out his wand—but again, he couldn't get the spell to work.

_**H-h-ogwarts?**_ he sent pleadingly.

The castle was, apparently, waiting for permission to do something.

The fire roared to life, dispensing an enormous amount of heat that seemed to blow at Harry. He wasn't quite sure this was what fires were supposed to do, even in the magical world, but he was too grateful at the desperately needed warmth to care.

A feeling of deep concern wrapped around him like a blanket of heat. Actually, there _was_ a blanket of heat. Harry dragged his face away from the fire long enough to glare half-heartedly at the castle wall.

_**Hogwarts, **_he thought, having warmed up enough to stop chattering (well, mentally, at least), _**Lady, you really can't do this. What if someone notices?**_

Two images popped into his head: that of both the seventh year Slytherin and of Professor Snape asleep. Harry winced.

_**I really didn't need to see my Professor like that,**_ he grumbled. The castle laughed. _**Alright, but the instant they wake up, both the fire and the heat have to go down to normal.**_

_*__**Alright**__*_

Harry turned his attention back to Sebastian. The snake was slowly warming up, but had yet to awaken. Harry slid his friend inside his robe to both hide him from sight and cocoon him in warmth.

The heat from the fire enveloped him like a security blanket, causing Harry's eyes to droop with exhaustion. He blinked it back with practiced ease, helped along by the castle's 'voice' once more ringing through his mind.

_*__**Christmas presents?**__*_

Harry sighed. How to explain this one.

_**My lady, I don't have any presents.**_

_*__**Do**__*_

_**No, lady, I really don't have presents. You see, I **_**never**_** get presents for Christmas, so there's no reason this year will be any dif—**_

The castle cut him off by shoving an image into his mind. He saw himself, curled up into a tight ball under a pile of blankets, fast asleep. A house elf popped into the room, deposited three wrapped packages at the base of his bed, and popped back out.

Harry gaped.

_*__**Presents!**__*_ Hogwarts insisted.

_**Wh-where are they?**_ Despite the castle's firm belief that Harry had presents, Harry wasn't quite sure he believed it. He _never_ got presents.

_*__**Dorm**__*_

_**I**_…Harry looked around at the fire, and the small nest of blankets he'd made right in front of it, before glancing down to where Sebastian was curled snuggly in his robes, _**I can't move right now.**_

_*__**Bring**__*_

_**Can you even do that?**_

A moment later, three packages floated out of the passageway to the dorms and over to where Harry was sitting by the fire. Harry gawked at the physical proof that he really _had_ gotten Christmas presents.

_**One of these days, we'll have to sit down and have a long discussion on exactly **_**how**_** you can perform magic…**_he trailed off, as the castle deposited the presents next to him. At that moment, Sebastian decided to wake up.

"_Sssssssssss…warmmmmm…wait a moment…"_

"_Merry Chrissstmasss, Sssebassstian,"_ Harry murmured with amusement.

"_Feliz Navida, amigo…how did we get in front of a fire? And why are we warm for once?"_

"_Well, we nearly froze to death in the dormsss…you essspecially. So I managed to get out here and sssince everyone elssse (that being the ssseventh year and Professsor Sssnape) is asssleep, I let Hogwartsss warm usss up."_

"_Uhh…Ok. What now?"_

"_Now, I get to open my firssst Chrissstmasss presssentsss!"_

"_I thought you sssaid you didn't get any presssentsss?'_

"_Well, apparently, I wasss missstaken."_

Harry turned back to the packages, picking up the nearest parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across the top was 'To Harry, From Hagrid'.

He raised an eyebrow at the sender, though he supposed it made sense. Hagrid, after all, had bought him a birthday present even though they'd only just met, and he _had_ been spending a fair amount of time at the gamekeeper's hut—although not recently. It was entirely too cold outside to seriously consider the trip from the castle to Hagrid's house to be worth it.

With painstaking care, Harry unwrapped the bundle. Out tumbled a roughly cut wooden flute, which Hagrid had obviously carved himself. Harry smiled at the rather humble gift—anyone else would have tossed it aside, but to Harry, it symbolized something important. Hagrid had taken the time to make him something by hand. Which meant he was important to at least one human (or, relatively human person) in this castle.

Smiling slightly, Harry blew on the flute, which surprisingly sounded just like Hedwig. He wondered if it had been deliberate, and set the flute aside with great care.

The next parcel was shaped a bit like a jam jar (pleasantly wrapped, too: in silver paper with a deep green silk ribbon…which Harry would definitely be keeping), and upon opening the package, Harry found that it was one. Instead of jam, though, the inside was filled with blue flames. Harry put his hand to the glass and raised an eyebrow at the sheer amount of heat that radiated from the contraption. Hmm…well this was a useful present.

He picked up the note that had slipped out of the paper along with the jar.

_To Harry Potter,_ (it read)

_I know we haven't really met in person, nor have we had any true form of communication. Still, I'd like to thank you for saving my life on Halloween. I understand that you don't seem to want to be recognized for what you did—don't worry, I'll keep quiet—but I'd like you to know that _I_, at least, will remember. _

_As thanks, I'm giving you this jar with the bluebell flames; I noticed that the dungeons seem particularly cold during this time of the year, and I can't imagine what it would be like to live in them. I'm not quite sure how long the flame will last, so I've included the spell in this letter. The jar is spelled to be unbreakable, though you shouldn't have a problem removing the lid. The incantation is __Caeruleus__Inflamarae__. They can be kept in a jar, sent out a short distance, and then retrieved. As far as I know, the flames are waterproof._

_Merry Christmas,_

_Hermione Granger._

Harry looked back and forth between the jar and the letter for a long moment. It certainly appeared as though the Granger girl had solved his heating problem…at least temporarily. He reread the letter and memorized the spell, wondering if the fire really _did_ work under water. He turned back to the jar once more just in time to see Sebastian curl himself around it.

If snakes could purr, that was what Seb was doing. Little hissing sounds escaped his mouth as he finally found a source of heat that he could envelop.

Harry shook his head at the sight and turned back to the last package.

It was very light, wrapped in unassuming lavender tissue paper with a set of crossed candy canes were tied to the top with a green ribbon. Harry carefully unwrapped the package. Something fluid and silvery grey went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. A small scrap of paper fell out along with it, and Harry picked it up.

_Your father left it in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well._

_A very merry Christmas to you._

The note was unsigned.

Harry stared at the slippery fabric. _This was my father's? But who would he have left it with? That implies he has friends who are still alive. I wonder why none of them ever came and visited me…_

With Sebastian watching with interest, Harry carefully unfolded himself from the nest of blankets and rose, scooping up the fabric as he went. After a moment of intense study, he realized it was a cloak.

It was long and grey, complete with a hood and a small brocade clasp (made of the same material). Throwing caution to the winds, Harry swung the cloak about his shoulders and let it settle about him. _Well, first thing's first, the cloak is definitely going to be too long._ He looked down to see how much he'd have to compensate for.

There was nothing there. Not the extra material, nor the cloak…nor his feet or legs, for that matter.

_What the HELL?_ He thought with confusion.

"_Well, amigo, that'sss certainly an interesssting presssent. I don't think I've heard of anything before that makesss one invisssible…"_

_**Hogwarts, do you have any clue what this is?**_ Harry thought to the castle.

_*__**Invisibility Cloak**__*_

_**Yes, I gathered that…but do you know how well it works? And why my father had it? Did he use it?**_

A series of images blasted into his mind. Four boys, growing steadily older at the pictures progressed, running through the corridors, pranking people (teachers and students), laughing, joking, and slipping out into the night to become animals. Through it all, they were accompanied by the cloak Harry now held and, later on, an old piece of parchment.

_*__**James Potter**__*_ the castle thought to him, showing a zoomed in image of one of the boys, who looked remarkably like Harry—that is, if Harry's hair was shorter and he weighed a bit more.

_**Who are the others?**_ Harry though back, desperately, breathlessly.

_*__**Sirius Black**__*_ another zoomed in image, this time of a tall, laughing boy with black hair and grey eyes.

_*__**Remus Lupin**__*_ once more zoomed in, a thin, scarred boy with coffee colored hair.

_*__**Peter Pettigrew**__* _the final person, slightly chubby, blond with blue eyes.

_**And my mother?**_ Harry couldn't believe his luck, nor the fact that he hadn't thought to ask about them before. _Of course_ the castle knew everyone who went through its corridors.

This time, an image of a young girl with red hair and green eyes popped into view. She was sitting by the lake under a tree, sharing a book with a boy, who had long black hair and a bit of a nose. They looked to be in third year.

_**Who's she sitting with?**_

_*__**Severus Snape**__*_

_**You mean, my Head of House? The current Potions Professor?**_

_*Nod*_

_**Were they…**_**friends**_**?**_

_*Nod*_

Well _that_ was interesting. He'd have to contemplate the possibilities of this particular revelation later.

"_Amigo? You've been ssstanding there ssstaring into ssspace for ten minutesss. Are you alright?"_ Sebastian hissed worriedly. Harry looked down at his snake with a soft smile.

"_Never better"_ he reassured.

:~:

The rest of Christmas passed in a hazy blur of warmth and literature. When he felt that he could safely leave the heat of the fire without freezing to death, Harry made a trip back to his room get dressed and retrieve an enormous book on the magical _and_ muggle history of Asia. Five minutes later he was back, shivering once more, determined not to move for the remainder of the day.

He settled down, wrapping the blanket around him and letting Sebastian curl up in his lap for a snooze (under the blanket, of course, so he was hidden from sight). He buried his nose in his book and proceeded to read for hours on end.

About an hour after Harry had started reading, the seventh year trooped into the common room. He stopped and blinked in shock at the sight of the tiny first year curled up by the fire with a book that probably weighed more than he did. Having been unaware that there _was_ anyone else staying in Slytherin (Harry had done a very good job of hiding, and the seventh year had been distracted), the seventh year took a moment to study the situation, noting that the first year was _Potter_, of all people.

He turned away with a shrug and moved over to the other fire place to read his own book, wondering how in the name of Merlin the first year had _not_ frozen to death. Students didn't learn advanced heating charms until fifth year at least. He vowed to take the matter up with his Head of House later.

Harry was mostly oblivious to this scrutiny, only noting the seventh year's entrance by the fact that Hogwarts stopped outputting enormous amounts of heat.

He was blissfully caught up in a detailed account of Genghis Khan's journey to conquer the known world, and how magic played a role (it always did…except in issues of modern science. In fact, it was one of the reasons so many religious wars took place: a wizards' war that spilled over into the muggle world was often blamed on religious factions, as the muggles would never question that excuse, and wouldn't look deeper into the problem (thus revealing the magical involvement)).

Later that evening, Harry got ready for Christmas dinner. He didn't exactly want to go, but he knew if he missed this particular meal, the staff wouldn't just keep playing hide-and-seek. They'd probably drag him from his bed and demand answers. And Harry didn't want _any_ adults in his bedroom…so, it looked as though he'd be attending the feast.

Just because he was going didn't mean the 'war' was off, though. He made sure to arrive after the teachers and sit as far from them as was possible—he was sure they knew what he was doing as well and were annoyed that they could do nothing to prevent it. He left just before the feast ended, thus eliminating the chance of getting caught and 'talked-to'.

The feast itself wasn't that bad, the food was phenomenal and there were plenty of things to watch. The entire Weasley clan of Hogwarts (four of them at the moment) provided more than enough entertainment; mainly, the older prefect brother trying to keep his younger twin brothers in line (unsuccessfully). There were loads of Christmas crackers, which the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs seemed to thoroughly enjoy pulling at every available opportunity. Harry, unable to resist Sebastian's suggestion, pulled one on his own, and ended up with a set of wizards' chess and several large, white mice—which he fed to his snake.

Up at the high table, the Headmaster swapped his pointed hat for a flowered bonnet and continually pressed sweets on all those around him…including Professor Snape, the unfortunate one to sit next to him. Harry watched Hagrid get redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided. Flash went the camera, and Professors Astley and Monsel had blackmail material worth millions.

That night, Harry tucked his father's invisibility cloak and the wooden flute into his trunk, taking the flame jar to bed with him like a hot water bottle. Sebastian and Harry curled around the jar, under layers and layers of blankets, all radiating warmth from heating charms. He nestled into his snug bed and fell into a peaceful sleep (although visions of sugar plums didn't dance in his head). It was by far the best Christmas he'd ever had.

:~:

The morning of Boxing day found Harry eating in the kitchen, planning on spending the rest of the day—if not week—there, as it was the one and only place in the entire school (accessible to him) that was warm all the time. He'd even brought his book bag with him in preparation for intensive research, and was just about to put up silencing spells (to drown out the house elves bustle) when Hedwig swooped in from somewhere and deposited a letter on his empty plate.

Harry wasted a few moments wondering how on _earth_ she managed to get into the kitchens. The Great Hall he understood. Most of the rest of the castle, too, made sense. But the kitchens? The door was closed and there were _no_ other ways in…_hmm, this bears investigating…_

He thanked his beautiful owl and fed her a piece of bacon before opening the letter.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_It has come to my attention that I haven't had an opportunity to speak with you yet this year. As I make it a habit to speak with all the first years to see how they're settling in, I would be absolutely thrilled to have your delightful company in my office this afternoon. Tea time, shall we say? _

_ The password is "gingerbread cookies"._

_Albus Dumbledore._

Harry contemplated the letter for a long moment. _Well,_ he thought, _I suppose that Professor Snape did warn me about this one. Might as well deal with the problem._

_**Hogwarts, my lady,**_ he questioned the castle, _**Could you show me the way to the Headmaster's office, around tea time? And will you let me know when it is tea time, please?**_

_*__**Yes**__*_

Harry settled down to do as much research as he could in the remaining time, glancing briefly at the note once more. _Wait a moment,_ he thought suddenly, digging into his robe pocket for another scrap of parchment which he'd taken to carrying around with him. He held the letter he had just received and the note which had been attached to his invisibility cloak a couple inches apart from each other.

_Huhhh…that's interesting. What on earth was the Headmaster doing with my father's invisibility cloak...did my father really leave it with him? I wonder how well they knew each other?_ He decided to contemplate this at some other time, and to most certainly _not_ bring it up during their meeting.

:~:

That afternoon, Harry wandered around the upper reaches of the castle, following Hogwarts' somewhat confusing directions.

_*__**Left**__*_

_ *__**No, other left**__*_

_ *__**Right**__*_

_*__**No, the direction**__*_

Followed by an image of a statue. (right at statue)

*_**Two rights**__*_

Image of someone poking a portrait and making it open.

Image of secret passage tunnel, leading to another corridor.

_*__**Up**__*_

_ *__**That**__**way**__*_

_ *__**Other**__**way**__*_

_ *__**Right**__*_

_ *__**Ok**__, __**stop**__*_

Image of student giving password to gargoyle.

Harry attempted to follow these instructions as best he could. It wasn't the easiest, although Hogwarts probably got him there by the most direct route—after all, the castle knew when it was moving, as well as what direction to go to correct for this movement. Finally, Harry found the stone gargoyle outside the Headmaster's office.

"Gingerbread cookies," he said quietly, and the gargoyle hopped aside.

Harry walked up the spiral staircase and knocked politely on the Headmaster's door.

"Come in Mr. Potter!"

Harry entered the room, gazing around in quiet appraisal at the various magical objects that lined shelf after shelf of the Headmaster's office. Portraits of the previous Headmasters covered the walls as well, and Harry's eyes finally rested on the comfortable arm chairs in front of a large desk…which was piled high with paper work, a small spot cleared to make room for a tea set.

"Ahh, Mr. Potter," the Headmaster, who had been fiddling with something, turned around and greeted him with a wide grin, "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Albus Dumbledore, and it's a pleasure to meet you!"

He shook Harry's hand, beaming.

"The pleasure is mine," Harry murmured quietly, not quite sure what to make of the Headmaster, "And please call me Harry," he added on a whim.

"Shall we sit?" Dumbledore gestured Harry to the arm chair and took his own seat behind his desk. He paused for a moment, looking mournfully at the enormous stack of paperwork that almost blocked the boy from his view, the moved it aside with the flick of his wrist.

_ No wand,_ Harry noted, catching the tiny movement, _And no verbal spell…I'd ask him if he thought the spell instead, but it would be best not to draw attention to my forays in magic at the moment, I think. _

"Now, my dear boy, may I offer you tea? Would you like milk, sugar?"

The basic necessities taken care of, the two settled down to have a 'heart-to-heart'…which mostly involved answering questions without saying anything the other didn't already know. Harry had the oddest feeling that the Headmaster saw it as some sort of game, and was delighted to find someone to play it with.

"How are your studies progressing?"

"Well enough."

"Any particular hobby you have?"

"I like to read."

"Make any new friends?"

"Not yet, but we shall see…perhaps after Christmas." (_This, of course, was a complete lie, Harry didn't intend to be friends with anyone other than Sebastian and Hogwarts)_

"Ahh, well, you never know, there might be a golden opportunity waiting for you to just stumble on it. What's your favorite course?"

"Charms."

"Any particular reason?"

"They're fun to do and are very useful."

"Current favorite charm?"

"Heating charms."

"Ahh, I suppose the dungeons _are_ quite cold this time of year…I always intend to do something about it, but I never get around to it. What do you think of the situation?"

"I would be very appreciative if the dungeons were a bit warmer."

"Well, I suppose I should get on with it then."

This fascinating conversation was interrupted by a flash of fire. Harry, jerked and blinked a bit, but otherwise remained calm—mostly due to the fact that the Headmaster failed to react too much.

"Ahh, Fawkes! There's someone here I'd like you to meet," the Headmaster informed the ball of fire.

The ball of fire was, it turned out, not a ball of fire after all, but a phoenix. Harry, despite his reservations at meeting the Headmaster, was delighted. The bird fluttered over to his leg and perched on it, looking him in the eye.

"You can pet him, go on" the Headmaster urged.

Harry lifted his hand and ran it down the birds flaming crest. The phoenix leaned into his touch and cooed, trilling softly in delight.

"Hello," Harry whispered quietly, slight awe creeping into his voice, "I'm Harry Potter, pleased to meet you."

The phoenix crooned a single perfect note in response, sending shivers down Harry's spine. He smiled gently.

"He likes you," the Headmaster murmured, causing Harry to look up at him and grin with delight. Ok, so it was a very good tactic for putting him at ease, but for this one time, Harry didn't mind.

Harry continued to pet the phoenix as the Headmaster turned back to their conversation.

"My dear boy, I'm not quite sure how to bring this up, but…your lack of friends and a social life is causing some concern with the staff. Do you want to explain why you prefer to spend time in the library as opposed to being with your year-mates?"

To Harry's surprise, he heard a ringing undertone to the Headmaster's question, implying that the Headmaster was genuinely worried about him, but if Harry didn't want to talk, he wasn't going to force him to. He was free to not answer…and this ability to choose was probably what caused him to respond truthfully.

"No one will talk to me, I've been sanctioned," he replied, referring to his house, "And everyone else is scared because I'm a Slytherin."

The Headmaster sighed deeply, looking a century older.

"I'm very sorry about that, my boy," he murmured with genuine apology, "I had hoped that the students would put aside prejudices by now, but it appears I shall forever be disappointed in them."

"It's alright," Harry had some unreasonable urge to comfort the Headmaster—probably because he was the first person Harry could ever remember being sincerely worried and apologetic to him—"I'd probably not get along with anyone very well anyway."

"Ahh, but it's the lack of effort on their part, Harry, that worries me about the future of this world," the Headmaster sighed again. "Well, I suppose that's that. Is there anything I can do?"

A wild thought stuck Harry, as he remembered something from the beginning of the year.

"May I come up here and talk to the Sorting Hat and Fawkes on occasion?" he asked near silently. The Headmaster, though, appeared to hear him.

"Why of course, Harry, feel free to come here any time you want."

"_Any_ time?" Harry wondered impishly, thinking about the comment Professor Snape had made to the staff about being unable to catch him. The Headmaster's eyes twinkled.

"Well, if you can get all the way up here past curfew without getting caught _and_ you can get in here without waking me up, I suppose there's no stopping you," the Headmaster replied, amusement heavy in his voice.

They both rose, an unspoken agreement that the meeting was over. Fawkes fluttered over to his perch and cooed goodbye to Harry.

"Well, my dear boy, pleasant rest of your holidays," the Headmaster said, seeing him to the door, "Try not to spend all your time cooped up in the library…if only to raise the staff's hopes that they have a chance at catching you." He winked.

"I'll do my best," Harry promised, walking down the spiral stairs and slipping out past the gargoyle. He ducked behind a tapestry and into a secret passage (a normal one) just in time to avoid Professor McGonagall, striding up to the gargoyle and giving the password. For some reason, he thought he heard the Headmaster's laughter ringing down the stairs as he hurried away from the scene.

* * *

So...Harry can talk to Hogwarts now. I guess he doesn't need the Marauders' Map anymore.

Harry will go and talk to the Sorting Hat and Fawkes in the next chapter. I'm trying to emphasize that he really _doesn't_ have any human(ish) friends.

Will Harry find the Room of Requirements? We'll see.

Fluffy and the Stone will come up next chapter as well. Harry _will_ deal with the Sorcerers Stone, that part of the book is staying the same. However, keep in mind that he doesn't suspect Snape, he hasn't heard about Flammel yet, etc. He'll get that detention that in the Forbidden Forest, and that will probably be what connects everything.

I'm hoping to finish this story in a chapter or two. I could probably do it in one, but it would be _very_ long, and reviewing 30 pages every time is already a lot...we'll see.

**One final note**: I'm looking for a story. In fact, I've been looking for this story for ages. I don't know what it's called, or who it's by, but here's what I remember of it.

The Story involves Harry being left with his relatives for the Summer. Voldemort happens to be swept into Harry's mind (similar to how Harry is often swept into Voldemort's mind) and Voldy witnesses Harry being raped by his Uncle. He goes to Privet Drive, removes Harry, and gives him to Snape, who his waiting at the door. Voldemort knows that Snape's a traitor, but tells him that his punishment is to train Harry so that when they meet again on the battle field, Harry will be a warrior, not an abused child.

I'm pretty sure the story's a one-shot, and under a Harry/Voldemort, or Harry/Tom Riddle Jr. category.

If you know what it is, _please_ let me know. Thank you.

Edited August 2010


	5. Here there be Monsters

A/N: This isn't the last chapter. The story _is_ completed, but it ended up being too long for one chapter (75 pages), so in the end, I broke it in two. I'll probably finish editing it and publish the final chapter next week.

As such, there are some things promised that _didn't_ end up in this particular chapter. I completely forgot about a very important event when I was planning, and thus this chapter was written. The Sorting Hat, Fluffy, Fawkes, etc will be _next_ chapter.

Note: I've gone back and edited chapters 1-4. Nothing major was changed (it was mostly for spelling), but I did fix issues which conflicted with later chapters.

Thanks to all those who reviewed.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

The end of the winter holidays brought a close to the peace and quiet which had enshrouded the castle. Noisy students bustled back through the corridors, resettling themselves in their dorms and chatting at the top of their lungs. The whole school rang with _How was your break? _'s and _Guess what I got for Christmas? _'s. Post-holiday good spirits ran through the castle. Everyone was happy, breathless, and once more energized for studying.

Harry was more than a little annoyed.

His lovely peace and quiet no longer existed—even in the library, as seen by the sheer number of students that Madam Pince threw out on a daily basis. Although no one came near his study corner, voices carried loudly over the bookcases and Harry nearly tore his hair out in frustration, for the noise greatly disturbed his researching.

Even the castle itself was no help—the emotions of the students influenced those of Hogwarts, and it was driving him crazy with a constant bombardment of joy which was not his own. Sometimes, being mentally connected with a sentient castle was really not worth it.

Harry spent the first few days before classes started slinking around the castle and avoiding everyone. Thus, once classes resumed and he began attending meals with his housemates, he was not at all prepared for the surprise they had in store for him.  
"Hello, Potter."

Harry looked up from his book and blinked in complete shock at Theodore Nott, who slid in to the seat across the breakfast table from him. _I must be hearing things…_

"Do you always read at breakfast?" his classmate continued, as if this wasn't the first time any Slytherin had spoken to Harry in four months. He piled various foods onto his plate, glancing up after a moment when he realized Harry had yet to make any sound.

"Yes," Harry replied shortly, in no way encouraging the conversation. He was still in bewildered shock, but it was slowly starting to fade away and allowing his calculating side to take over, along with a growing sense of anger. _Just why is Theo talking to me after so long…what's he getting out of this? I was under the impression that no one would say a word to me…_

"So, what are you reading?" the boy asked, undeterred.

"A book," Harry answered in a tone intended to freeze the conversation. He decided to ignore his year mate until he figured out just what the Hell was going on. There was no way he was going to _owe_ Theo simply because the boy talked to him when no one else would. He has his snake and the castle, he didn't need another conversationalist.

Theo, apparently, found Harry's reply amusing.

"Well obviously, Potter…" but at that moment, Harry put his book away, grabbed his bag, and rose from the table. He gave a faint nod of acknowledgement to Theo—it wouldn't do to appear rude, he just wanted to remain aloof—and slipped out of the Great Hall. As he left, he noticed a handful of Slytherins eyeing him speculatively, especially those who could hear Theo talking to him.

_Oh joy,_ he thought, as he hurried to his first class, _This is going to be interesting…_

:~:

It actually took Harry a week to figure out why the Slytherins were suddenly speaking to him. One nerve-wracking, anxiety packed, bewildering week. For the first time ever, his classmates greeted him when he entered the common room, instead of just pretending he didn't exist—Harry thus went out of his way to avoid the common room. People acknowledged him when they passed in the corridors—Harry took alternate routes that didn't contain any students. His year mates actually asked him for his aid once they realized just how much higher his grade was than theirs—Harry declined in an as round-a-bout way as possible, and then proceeded to hide in the library and sit away from all the other students in his classes.

He even recruited Hogwarts to search for the reason that the Slytherins were talking to him—a job which the castle set itself to with great enthusiasm. And it was due to the castle's diligent observation of the Slytherins that Harry finally understood the reason for the change in attitude.

According to various images Hogwarts sent to him, the Slytherins—like the rest of the school—had been shocked that the Boy-Who-Lived had been sorted into their house. Since at least half of their parents were Death Eaters (which was what Voldemort's supporters were called), they were very unsure as to how to treat Harry: whether to try and kill him, because he killed their parent's Lord, or to befriend him and perhaps turn him dark.

None of them had any idea of how their parents and family wished them to deal with the situation, so they refused to speak to Harry in worry that they'd mess up. They were unable to ask for their parents' opinions by owl because the mail might be censored (and having orders to kill Harry Potter would be a bad idea). Thus, they had to wait until they went home for Christmas to establish a way to deal with the problem.

Apparently, the pureblood families decided that it wouldn't hurt if their children spoke to Harry, so once more the students were permitted to interact with him. _They_ (the students) seized on the chance to befriend the Boy-Who-Lived—as it might pay off in the future—and _that_ was the reason they were suddenly willing to talk to him.

Harry was not impressed.

He'd already realized that no one would want to be his friend for any reason other than his fame—he simply didn't fit in with other children, as he'd never really interacted with anyone his age apart from Dudley (if one could call that interacting). He was unwilling to play along with the power game and subsequently decided to remain in his recluse status, despite his house's best effort to draw him out into the spotlight.  
And so he avoided them. _All _of them. He kept odd hours of sleep so that his dorm-mates were already in bed or out the door when he was there. He used as many secret passages as he could so as to avoid his classmates in the corridors. He never remained in the common room longer than it took to cross it.

In short, he became invisible outside of classes and meals (which he didn't dare avoid for fear of attracting his Head of House's attention and at which he sat with a book and an intense notice-me-not ward around himself).

No one managed to track him down, though it certainly wasn't for lack of trying.

The only times he got relief from the constant slinking about were during Quidditch matches. Then, he could walk without fear in the halls, as the Slytherin team was apparently doing rather well, and the entire house (except for him) turned out in droves for every game. Harry, however, preferred to use this time to study, either for class or for one of the numerous projects he was working on.

It was at night that he roamed the castle.

One such night he decided to test his invisibility cloak out. He'd researched invisibility cloaks in the library, and the results were not that encouraging. Although lots of the cloaks existed, ones that made a person "truly invisible" were very rare. Instead, most cloaks worked on a chameleon principle, and simply blended in really, _really_ well with the background. A well trained individual could spot these cloaks, thus rendering the effect pointless.

Convinced that the latter was the type of cloak he had (and equally convinced that his Head of House could probably see through the things), Harry was a bit wary to rely solely on the cloak to sneak about the castle. Thus, he still used his various methods of stealth, and wore the cloak for the extra warmth and slight cover it might provide. In fact, he was even more cautious when he had the cloak than when he didn't.

"_You sssee, Sssebassstian,"_ he explained to his snake on that particular night, _"It'sss bad enough if I get caught sssneaking around; it'll be even worssse if I have an invisssibility cloak with me. Besssidesss, I might loossse it."_

He paused in his conversation, his eyes fixed on a partly-open door which he could have sworn was not there when he passed this corridor earlier. Feeling up to a bit of snooping, Harry peeked his head into the room.

It looked like a completely normal unused classroom, except for a large, flat object covered in a heavy, dusty cloth. Harry slipped into the room, grabbed the cloth, and gently, oh so carefully, pulled it off. Once the dust cloud settled and he could see and breathe again, Harry turned his attention back to the object.

Before him was a large mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. Harry's eyes traced the gold sides, taking in the intricate detail that formed various scenes and livelihoods of people. At the top, his gaze caught on perfect, elegantly formed words which spanned the curve of the mirror.

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

Harry studied the words for a long moment in puzzlement.

_Not English, nor French, Spanish, or any other romance language, really. There two "oyt" words, maybe that's an article? Or perhaps a pronoun? But none I recognize. Hmm…maybe it's like Arabic and reads from right-to-left, as opposed to most western languages._

Harry reread the words in the opposite direction to see if it would help his understanding. _Wait a moment…_

"I show not your face but your heart's desire," he murmured quietly.

"_Odd mirror, amigo,"_ Sebastian commented, but Harry was already gazing into the surface in front of him.

For a moment, all he saw was his own reflection staring back at him. Short, skinny, messy long hair, green eyes, school robes, green and silver tie. Then, the image changed.

A woman was standing right behind his reflection, smiling at him gently. She was very pretty, with dark red hair and her eyes—_her eyes are just like mine,_ Harry thought with a sharp intake of breath. Bright green, and exactly the same shape. A tall, thin, black-haired man was standing next to her. He had glasses—_like I used to—_and short, very messy hair, which stuck up…_just like mine does._

Harry couldn't breathe. His eyes remained fixed on the two people standing behind his reflection in the mirror (and it occurred to him, in the very back of his mind, that he shouldn't even be able to _see_ his reflection, as he was wearing his invisibility cloak), unwilling to so much as blink incase they went away.

"Mum, Dad?" he whispered, hardly daring to imagine, yet unable to refute the clear evidence before his eyes.

The smiling figures nodded slightly, and Harry felt air rush out of his lungs. He sat down hard on the floor, his jaw hanging open as he gaped at the mirror.

"_Amigo?"_ Sebastian hissed worriedly, but Harry was incapable of answering.

It was, after all, the first time he'd really seen his parents.

Harry didn't know how long he spent in front of that mirror, but dawn's light was beginning to seep into the room when he came back to himself. Sebastian had given up trying to talk to him and instead settled for giving his shoulders gentle, rhythmic squeezes—the snake version of a human rocking a child back and forth.

Harry stood slowly, not noticing the pins-and-needles filling his legs from being in one position for so long. He reached out a shaking hand and brushed the tips of his fingers along his mother's face, then his father's. He imagined that he could feel skin under his hand, and for one moment, he let himself believe that they were real.

Then, he shook his head slowly and took a step away.

"You're dead," he told his parents quietly, "This isn't real, it's just an illusion. I'm very grateful that I stumbled across it, but I think it would be best if I didn't come back. I can't spend my life pining for what I can't have."

His parents' reflections nodded, causing his heart to ache.

"I have to go now," he whispered, his voice cracking, "I miss you."

His father gave him a small smile, in which it was easy to read _I miss you too._ His mother freed her hands from his reflection's shoulder and slowly signed: I love you.

Harry felt the tears begin to break from his eyes and trail down his cheeks and—not daring to turn away for one second—he backed slowly out of the room. Hogwarts swung the door shut behind him and he turned and fled from the scene, running deeper and deeper into the dungeons, only stopping when he knew no one would come across him. He sank to the ground, drew his knees up to his chest, and sobbed.

It was the only day he ever skipped class.

:~:

In the weeks that followed, Harry threw himself into his research in an attempt to…well…not _forget_ what he saw in the mirror (he never wanted to forget what his parents looked like), but to stop their image from occupying his every waking thought. The Slytherins had given up trying to talk to him—except for the more persistent of his year mates—although the older ones could be caught staring at him from time to time, as if trying to understand why he refused their friendship.

_There's nothing to 'understand' about it,_ Harry grumbled to himself, _I thought it was perfectly clear why I don't want to talk to them. _

Unwilling to befriend (or even communicate with) any of them, Harry was nevertheless very polite should he run into a fellow housemate. At the moment, they seemed friendly enough (though it was too late, far too late), but he really didn't need to worry about being cursed in his sleep.

He dealt well with his self-imposed isolation. It wasn't much different than when no one was talking to him, except now it was by choice. _Defense-mechanism much, Harry?_ he thought to himself ironically.

He talked to the castle and Sebastian (who stayed with him constantly). When the snow began to melt at the end of February, he took to visiting Hagrid again. The groundskeeper was delighted to see him, and Harry once more had to employ his slight-of-hand capabilities to discreetly get rid of the vast quantities of inedible food the man pressed on him.

On one of these trips, he brought up the topic of his parents.

"Hagrid," he asked, after hours worth of stories, "Why did I wind up with my muggle relatives when my parents were killed?"

"Well, yeh see, Harry, when You-Know-Who tried to kill yeh, 'e got killed instead. Only, Dumbledore figured 'e was a bit more powerful than the resta the world thought. See, although the books say 'e died, Dumbledore figures some part 'o his spirit's still floatin' aroun' out there. And at yer relatives, yeh have some blood-protection ward or summat. So 'e—Dumbldore, that is—placed yeh with 'em, see, ter protect yeh."

"Oh," replied Harry. _Well that's interesting. Not much protection if they kill me first, but I guess that's beside the point. Blood wards, eh? I'll have to research those._

:~:

It was the beginning of March when Harry overheard a fascinating conversation which once more brought up the problem with the Cerberus, the trapdoor, and the forbidden corridor. The fact that the…_conversation,_ if one could call it that…was between the two professors who he had seen racing down that corridor on Halloween only added to the puzzling mystery.

And unfortunately, Harry had an uncontrollable urge to solve any puzzle he came across.

"_Thisss isss a really bad idea, amigo,"_ Sebastian informed him as he slunk along the corridor away from where Professor Snape had, well, _threatened_ Professor Quirrell.

"_I'm well aware of the fact, Ssseb, but I've sssolved mossst of my current projectsss and Hogwartsss won't tell me what'sss going on. Therefore, I have to find out for myssself."_

"_You could jussst let it go…"_ the snake suggested.

"_Sssorry Ssseb, but I've got a feeling that thisss isss important. I _need_ to figure out what'sss going on."_

"_Jussst what are you planning on doing?"_ the snake asked, apparently resigned to the fact that he couldn't convince Harry to give it up.

"_Going to talk to Hagrid. He'sss alwaysss going on and on about big dangerousss animalsss. The Cerberusss isss probably hisss."_

Hagrid, though, was not amused with Harry's discovery and subsequent questioning about the three-headed dog and its purpose in the school.

"How did yeh find out abou' Fluffy?" he demanded in shock, once Harry asked about the Cerberus.

"_Fluffy_?" Harry and Sebastian (hidden) gasped in unison. At least Harry's came out in English, albeit a bit strangled. "You named a Cerberus _Fluffy_?"

" 'e was such a cute puppy," Hagrid said dreamily, reminiscing and conveniently oblivious to Sebastian's continued hissing of _"Fluffy?"_ in disbelief.

"Of course he was, Hagrid," Harry managed, getting his shock under control. "But why is he in the castle? I would have thought," he added on the spur of the moment, "That you would keep him near you. If you raised him, I bet he misses you. God knows, Fang does even if you leave him alone in here for only five minutes."

Hagrid bought it: hook, line, and sinker.

"Ahh, bless yer 'eart, Harry. I bet 'e does miss me. But Dumbledore needs him at the castle."

"Why?" Harry asked, curiously, innocently.

"Now I can't go tellin' yeh that," Hagrid told Harry with a grin, "That's b'tween Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel."

"Oh," Harry said disappointedly, although on the inside he was jumping up and down with delight. _So there's someone name Flamel involved with this, is there? I wonder…I know I've read that name before…_ "Ok, Hagrid, can you tell me about the time you almost caught that dragon?"

"Sure thing, Harry," and Hagrid went on a long, drawn out tale about his adventure, while Harry wracked his brain trying to remember where he'd found that name.

Harry set aside what few other projects he was currently working on (namely, figuring out if he could do wandless, wordless magic) and focused all his energies on researching Nicolas Flamel. If he could find the man, perhaps he could learn more about what the trapdoor guarded. Unfortunately, simply _finding_ the man was proving to be rather difficult.

For the rest of the month of March, Harry turned the history section of the library upside-down attempting to discover even one reference to Nicolas Flamel. He probably learned more history in that month than the seventh years had in seven years worth of Binns…but nothing mentioned the man.

And he'd tried everything. He even went as far back as to when Dumbledore was born, for if the matter under the trapdoor was between the Headmaster and Flamel, than it was likely Flamel had, at some point in time, been around Dumbledore. And since the Headmaster was the oldest wizard Harry knew, he assumed (logically), that Flamel was younger than Dumbledore, and thus existed in the time period between said Headmaster's birth and the present.

Nothing.

It was utterly infuriating, and eventually Harry stopped looking, admitting defeat. He'd spent every waking moment for the last month in the library researching one topic—with the exception of the time he used to visit Hagrid, as that was an advantageous friendship to maintain—and he'd found nothing.

So as April rolled around, he momentarily gave up, set the matter to the back of his mind, and turned his attention to studying for exams. As with all poetic irony, within two days he'd found his reference to Flamel.

:~:

April third dawned into rain. Not a light drizzle (which could be ignored as a minor annoyance), nor a clashing thunderstorm (which could be entertaining, especially with the ceiling in the Great Hall)—no, pouring sheets of water which turned the world into shades of grey, cooped up the students inside, and drove everyone either stir crazy or into sever depression. It was just that kind of day.

Harry was in his study part of the library. Due to Madam Pince's habit of throwing him out after a few hours of work (not nearly enough time to research properly), with the hope that he'd make friend or whatever else she reasoned he should be doing, Harry now avoided the normal part of the library. As a result, the staff firmly believed he no longer spend his days there (untrue, but they didn't need to know that). Unfortunately for them, they realized a little too late that they didn't know where he actually _was_ when he wasn't in the library—an oversight they regretted now that they chased him out of the one place they could find him.

Harry didn't care either way. He was a little annoyed that he couldn't browse freely in the shelves for fear of being caught, but by employing his invisibility cloak and tactful avoidance of people, he got around this minor problem.

He was currently reviewing for Potions (and by default then, Herbology). Although exams weren't until the beginning of June (two months away), Harry was already worrying about his Potions one. He was doing well in the class—though he was by no way disillusioned to the fact that he was a competent brewer; he knew perfectly well that he had such a high grade solely based on the fact that he could write very good essays, a trait which Professor Snape apparently appreciated—but he was still astonished whenever his cauldron didn't blow up. Therefore, it was necessary to start reviewing as soon as possible.

As he could quite possible recite every word in his Potions textbook (based on the sheer number of times he'd read the thing), yet still fail to understand half of it, Harry started with Herbology. Harry went through the plants, mentally reciting all their characteristics and attempting to remember how they reacted when combined in certain ways with potions ingredients.

When he was a third of the way through the book, a slip of paper fell out. Harry bent down to pick it up, blinking in mild surprise when the Headmaster's face smiled up at him.

_Oh, right,_ he thought, remembering suddenly, _The Chocolate Frog card…hmm, it doesn't make a bad bookmark._ He flipped it over idly, rereading the back to see if he could interpret anything from the confusing list of credentials now that he'd actually met the Headmaster.

_Considered by many…greatest wizard…defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald…discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood…work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel…wait, WHAT?_

"I _knew_ I read that name before!" Harry crowed softly in triumph.

"_Amigo pleassse, I'm trying to nap here…"_ Sebastian grumbled, shifting around Harry's torso.

"_No Ssseb, look, I found it! Dumbledore worked on alchemy with Nicolasss Flamel!"_

"_Ssso what? That doesssn't tell you anything at all about Flamel."_

"_Except that he worked on alchemy."_

"_And that helpsss usss how?"_

"_I knew you weren't lissstening when I told you all about thossse thingsss I wasss reading back in November. Never mind, I'll jussst go and get the book again."_

Harry slipped on his invisibility cloak and dashed through the shelves, returning moments later with an enormous book in his arms.

With a now mildly interested Sebastian peering over his shoulder, he flipped frantically through the pages, at last finding what he was looking for.

"_Sssee, it'sss right there!"_ he exclaimed, pointing at the page.

"_Amigo, I can't read Englisssh.'_

"_What? Oh alright, I'll read it to you._

"_The ancient ssstudy of alchemy isss concerned with making the Sssorcerer'sss Ssstone, a legendary sssubssstance with assstonissshing powersss. The ssstone will transssform any metal into pure gold. It alssso producesss the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal._

"_There have been many reportsss of the Sssorcerer'sss Ssstone over the centuriesss, but the only Ssstone currently in exissstence belongsss to Mr. Nicolasss Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated hisss sssix hundred and sssixty-fifth birthday lassst year, enjoysss a quiet life in Devon with hisss wife, Perenell (sssix hundred and fifty-eight)."_

There was momentary silence as both the snake and Harry considered what he had just read.

"_That's an odd way to phrassse an age…did the author of the book not want to mention that Flamel would be sssix hundred sssixty-sssix next? But I thought that wasss a _muggle_ religiousss concept…"_ Harry murmured after a long moment.

"_I don't know amigo, did Flamel do anything _besssidesss_ make the Sssorcerer's Ssstone?" _Sebastian asked.

"_Not that I'm aware of,"_ Harry answered, _"Though I could probably do sssome more resssearch. Thisss entry isss basssed on the Ssstone, though, ssso it probably wouldn't accurately explain what elssse he did."_

"_Ssso we think the Ssstone'sss here?"_

"_I'm not sssure. Hagrid didn't sssay Dumbledore had Fluffy—Hell, I'm ssstill not over that name—guarding anything _for_ Flamel, jussst that the matter of the trapdoor wasss between Dumbledore and Flamel. That could mean a lot of thingsss. They could have made sssomething elssse together (they're partnersss in alchemy after all) and Fluffy could be guarding that. Fluffy might be guarding an alchemy lab, or sssomething of the like. In fact, Fluffy doesssn't have to be guarding anything…it jussst might be a ssset-up to _look_ asss if he'sss guarding sssomething important."_

"_Then how do you explain Sssnape and Quirrell?"_

"_Obviousssly, the point of a ssset-up isss that no one knowsss it'sss a ssset-up."_

"_Ssso what you're sssaying isss that Dumbledore and Flamel pretended to hide sssomething under thisss trapdoor, put a Cerberusss to guard it, and then didn't tell anyone? Ssso the teachersss—or at leassst, sssome of the teachersss—know that thisss _thing_ (whatever-it-isss) isss here, but they don't know it'sss a ssset-up? And therefore, Dumbledore can catch whoever goesss after whatever-it-isss?"_

"_That doesss sssound pretty unlikely…"_ Harry mused, _"But you've met the Headmassster when you went with me. What do you think?"_

"_Well, amigo, it'sss either that option or that Dumbledore actually decided to hide a dangerousss artifact with people after it in a ssschool full of children. I don't really know which one'sss worssse."_

"_Hmm, both optionsss lead to people coming after it…you know, neither do I."_

"_Ssso what do we do?"_

"_Keep an eye out and determine if sssomething isss really here or not. Whatever-it-iss isssn't a problem jussst yet."_

:~:

Harry decided that, rain or no rain, he needed visit Hagrid and see what information he could pump out of him. Sebastian, unwilling to leave Harry alone and (although refusing to admit it) curious as to where this search was going, decided to tag along.

They slipped into the dorm and left anything that could be destroyed by water there (basically, all of Harry's books). Then, it was sneaking up through the corridors to the front doors of the castle, and out into the pouring rain. Within seconds, both were absolutely soaked.

Unable to see more than ten feet in front of him, Harry used as simple locater spell to make his way across the grounds to Hagrid's hut. Sebastian—despite having turned himself into a beaked sea snake (and Harry really didn't know what his friend's obsession with highly venomous snakes was: first black mambas and now this) to deal with the water issue—complained the _entire_ way there about being cold and wet. It was one very annoyed wizard that arrived at Hagrid's door, and it was fortunate that no one could know about Sebastian, or Harry might have ditched the snake at Hagrid's for a while.

_Honestly, complaining the whole way…and _I'm_ the one who's not able to handle being soaked…_

Unfortunately, within minutes of arriving, Harry realized that going to Hagrid's brought about bigger problems than theoretical stones and potentially crazy Headmasters.

"You've got a _what_?" Harry asked in disbelief. Sebastian, curled around his shoulders (though out of sight), muttered continuously _"Oh no, oh no, oh no…"_

"A dragon egg," Hagrid replied proudly, gesturing to the fire, where an enormous black ellipsoid sat in a bed of coals. The room was baking hot, and Harry's clothes were steaming themselves dry, but he was too otherwise occupied to notice.

Harry blinked at him, thousands of thoughts running through his mind, none making any sense.

"Isn't that illegal?" he managed at last. Hagrid looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Ahh, that's….umm."

Harry tuned him out. Of course it was illegal. But then again, he wasn't supposed to have a snake at Hogwarts, either. Granted, the two weren't really comparable (Sebastian wasn't going to eat anyone—well, Harry didn't _think_ he was going to eat anyone), but the principle was the same. And besides, Harry didn't care about the legality part, aside from the fact that he could lose his only human friend if this came out. It was other issues with raising a dragon that worried him.

"Hagrid," he tried again, "You live in a _wooden hut_."

"So?" the groundskeeper clearly did not see the problem which Harry thought should be obvious. Sebastian let out a muffled moan of disbelief and buried his head deeper into Harry's shoulder.

"Where did you get it?" Harry questioned after another long pause, deciding to let the issue go for the moment.

"Won it," Hagrid replied, "A couple o' weeks ago. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"Well obviously. Raising dragons is _illegal_, Hagrid, no wonder he wanted to get rid of it."

Hagrid looked slightly shamefaced, so Harry, with a sigh, turned the conversation to other points.

"What are you going to do when it's hatched?"

Hagrid noticeably brightened.

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'," he said, pulling a book out from under his pillow, "Got this outta the library—_Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit_—it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in 'ere. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mother's breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see 'ere—how ter recognize different eggs—what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. There're rare, them."

"Aren't they dangerous?"

"Naw, they're not so bad. Folks think Fluffy's dangerous, but 'e's jus' a harmless lil' pup."

Harry, remembering his own experience with the Cerberus and Halloween and Snape's mangled leg, begged differ. However, Hagrid had brought up the topic of Fluffy without prompting, and Harry was sure he could get some more information about the trapdoor without drawing attention to the fact.

"So what do Flamel and the Headmaster need him up there for? I thought he was a Cerberus, aren't they typically guard dogs?"  
That was the way to handle it. Ask the question and then slip in a distracter. With any luck, it would work.

"Yeah, they're guard dogs. That's why Dumbledore needs him up at the school, ter protect the Stone, 'cause o' the Gringotts break-in, see."

_Why do I have a bad feeling that this is leading more and more to the fact that the Sorcerer's Stone is actually_ at_ Hogwarts?_

"I get it. And this dragon, are you going to raise him to help Fluffy?" _Do _not_ mention the Stone again, or he'll get suspicious._

"Naw, 'e'd be too lil' ter do any protectin', though they grow fast. Besides, Dumbledore don' need him, there's loads o' other protections aroun' the Stone. Lots o' the teachers helped with it."

_Ok, so suppose the Stone is really at Hogwarts. How many people other than Hagrid, Dumbledore, Sebastian, and me know it's here? Hagrid said the teachers helped with the enchantments…so whoever did that had to know…and it'd stand to reason that both the Potions professor and the DADA professor would have something to do with it…_

Harry chatted with Hagrid for a while longer about more innocent topics before they wound back up on the dragon. Apparently, Harry wasn't Hagrid's only visitor. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger—who, for some bizarre, unexplainable reason had become friends—visited the groundskeeper as well. And they knew about the dragon.

"Hagrid, is it really a good idea to tell so many people?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Ehh, it's no problem. They figured it out, anyway. Saw me in the library lookin' fer the book. Came down an' asked what it was abou'. They won't tell nobody."

Harry decided that this was a fairly reasonable assumption—after all, they were Gryffindors, and in his opinion (and experience), Weasley and Granger could keep their mouths shut.

"Just…be careful, Hagrid."

After enduring another half hour in the sweltering hut, Harry made his excuses and trekked back up to the castle.

"_Well, amigo, thisss isss worrisssome."_ Sebastian commented once they were safely lost in the rain.

"_Tell me about it. The eassse with which he gave away the information regarding the Ssstone isss _really_ disssturbing. I can't believe I didn't remember the Gringottsss break-in. I sssuppossse we'll have to asssume that the Ssstone really isss here after all?"_

"_Looksss like it."_

"_Drat, thisss isss getting more and more complex. And Hagrid can't keep that dragon. I've read a bit about them—"_

"_Of courssse you have"_

"—_and thossse thingsss grow like no other. He'll have to get rid of it within weeksss of it hatching. There'sss no way he can keep it hidden in hisss hut."_

"_We'll figure sssomething out, amigo."_

"_And on top of that, we have to worry about what Professsor Sssnape and Quirrell have to do with the Ssstone. We heard Professsor Sssnape threatening Quirrell about the third floor, but…"  
"We really have no clue asss to why he wasss doing thisss."_

"_Precisssely. Why doesss thisss kind of thing alwaysss have to happen around examsss? I need to ssstudy, not protect illegal dragonsss and uncover mysssteriousss plotsss."_

"_Amigo, you're near the top of the classs, along with that Granger girl. You don't need to ssstudy. You'll do fine. And besssidesss, you have _how_ many weeksss until the end of the term?"_

"_All the more reassson to ssstudy now. Who knowsss how much more complicated thisss will get?"_

Harry slipped back through the doors, only to run smack into Professor Snape. He gazed up dazedly from the ground at his potions professor, blinking.

"Ten points for not watching where you're going, Mr. Potter. And what on _Earth_ are you doing outside in this weather?" Professor Snape eyed his soaked form critically.

"I was visiting Hagrid, sir," Harry replied politely, discreetly raising a hand and adjusting his sopping cloak to hide Sebastian, who—although mostly hidden—was slightly revealed due to the fall. He rose carefully, nearly slipping on the now wet floor, not meeting his professor's eyes. The potions master frowned at him.

"Go back to your dorm and change. I don't want to hear about you getting a cold due to your foolish wandering in a storm."

"Yes sir," Harry hurried off.

Severus watched the brat slink down the corridor and vanish around a corner, probably slipping into one of those secret passages he employed to so easily avoid the staff. Well, that answered _that_ question. Potter _was_ talking to someone—the sole person in the entire school who they had not thought to ask. Honestly, _why_ didn't they speak to Hagrid about the boy?

The brat was hiding something. That raised hand gesture had not been random, Severus was sure of it. However, Potter had been too fast for him to see exactly _what_ he had been hiding. Severus hoped it was nothing dangerous. He had enough to worry about with Quirrell after the Stone. _Of all the foolish things the Headmaster decided to do, keeping a highly sought after magical artifact in a school full of children had to be the worst._

And the little cretin apparently had no care for his own health. He'd never seen a person so drenched before. Why, in the name of Merlin, did the brat decide to visit Hagrid on a day such as this? Surly, there were more opportune times to do so…such as when it was _dry_ out, perhaps? _Salazar_, that half-wit was going to be the death of him.

Although he would never admit it out loud, he was a little, well…_concerned_ was too strong of a word. _Unsettled_, not much better, but it would do. He was _unsettled_ by the brat's lack of interest in interacting with his housemates. He'd heard of the Slytherins' decision to talk to the boy again, though it was a little late for that. There was no way he could blame Potter for his reaction to the sudden flux of attention.

Merlin knew, he wouldn't have been very accepting to the people who ignored him for months and then suddenly wanted to be his friend. The fact that the brat hadn't hexed them or told them to skedaddle was in itself astonishing. Though he was dying to know where the boy had learned those notice-me-not wards. It was all Leo could talk about for weeks—come third year, he was dead set on having the brat in arithmancy.

Why was it that nothing with Potter could be simple?

Over the next few weeks, the weather cleared up and Harry made sure to visit Hagrid often. He wasn't the only one with that idea and a few times he'd had to duck out of sight so as not to be seen by Granger or Weasley. _They_ weren't subtle at all, and Harry could tell that the longer Hagrid had the dragon egg, the more and more worried they grew. Not that he wasn't feeling the same thing, but with the way they were acting, it was obvious something was wrong. Either the professors thought that they were worried about the exams, or the staff was absolutely blind when it came to troubled students.

Harry spent his visits in a combination of subtly pumping information about the Stone out of Hagrid and trying to convince the man that maybe keeping a dragon in a wooden hut wasn't such a good idea. The latter yielded no results, but the former was a bit more productive. He learned that the enchantments surrounding the stone were place there by Professors McGonagall, Snape, Quirrell, Flitwick, Sprout, and finally Dumbledore, though Hagrid didn't know what they were. Harry thought that this was a rather good idea, for the groundskeeper had given _him_ the information so easily with only the slightest persuasion—he didn't want to contemplate what Hagrid had potentially told someone far more skilled in the art of subtly.

Still, knowing who did the enchantments was a bit of help, though Harry was annoyed to see that he couldn't eliminate either Quirrell or Snape from the equation. Both had gone up to the third floor on Halloween, both were there after he confronted the troll, both discussed the third corridor with one another…the list went on and on.

:~:

One morning, at the end of April, Hedwig flew down and dropped a letter on his plate during breakfast (the notice-me-not wards didn't make her so much as blink). Harry was rather startled for a moment, as he received mail from _no one_, but upon reading the two words hastily scribbled on the parchment, he understood.

_It's hatching._

He quickly glanced across the hall to the Gryffindor table, not at all surprised to see that Weasley and Granger had received a similar note, and now were squabbling quietly. Harry rolled his eyes, rose from the table, and decided to skive off class for the morning.

After all, it's not every day that one has the opportunity to watch a dragon hatch from an egg.

Sebastian, of course, insisted on accompanying him, loudly protesting the thought of being left behind. Harry slipped under his invisibility cloak—there was no reason for Weasley or Granger to suspect he knew Hagrid, and if this whole thing blew out of hand, it would be best if no one knew he'd been there—and trekked down to Hagrid's hut.

There was momentary confusion when Hagrid opened the door to find no one there, but Harry quickly explained the situation and the groundskeeper was more than willing to let him in. Harry sank down into a corner and, making sure that his cloak covered him entirely, fixed his eyes on the lightly wobbling egg on the table. Hagrid, he was sure, forgot about his presence within moments, as he wasn't visible to remind him and the man was too focused on the hatching egg.

A few hours, several large cracks, and a great deal more wobbling later, Weasley and Granger showed up. They'd clearly just come from Herbology, as they were still covered in smudges of dirt. Harry settled further into the corner, but he needn't have worried, as they were completely oblivious to his company.

The egg was cracking a bit more. Something was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it.

They (Hagrid and the two Gryffindors) drew their chairs around the table, while Harry leaned forward and Sebastian slithered up onto his head to have a better look. Everyone—including Fang, who was watching the birth of his new housemate with trepidation—watched with baited breath.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table, looking a bit like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body; it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns on its head, and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out its snout.

"Isn't 'e _beautiful_?" Hagrid murmured. Although the Gryffindors appeared a bit skeptical at this observation, Harry could totally see were Hagrid was coming from—the little dragon might not be the most adorable baby ever, but there was simply something…_magical_…about its being. Harry, in the back part of his mind which was not quite rational, decided he, too, wanted a dragon.

"_Ahh, look at it,"_ Sebastian cooed. Harry rolled his eyes. Trust his normally sarcastic snake to become a fawning adorer over a baby dragon. _"Isssn't he adorable?"_

"_Yesss, Ssseb, he'sss very cute,"_ Harry assured.

Hagrid reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

"Bless him, look, 'e knows his mommy!" Hagrid exclaimed. Harry's eyebrows shot up and he swiftly had to stifle a snicker. Well, that was certainly one way of putting it.

"Hagrid," Granger began, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

_Ahh, it appears as though I'm not the only one worried about the outcome of this._

Hagrid was about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his face—he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

"What's the matter?" Weasley demanded.

"Someone was lookin' though the gap in the curtains—it's a kid—'e's runnin' back up ter the school."

Weasley bolted to the door and peeked out.

"It's Malfoy, there's no mistaking that hair."

While the groundskeeper and the Gryffindors exchanged worried glances, Harry leaned back once more in his corner.

_Well this is certainly an interesting development. Now just what would Malfoy do with this kind of information?_

For he knew, without a doubt, that Malfoy had seen the dragon.

:~:

The next week proved to be rather entertaining—for Harry, at least. Malfoy smirked knowingly at Granger and Weasley ever time he saw them. It wasn't very subtle, and the older Slytherins took to keeping an eye on him, but apparently they decided that as long as he didn't do anything too harmful, they'd keep their noses out of it.

Harry, meanwhile, was very glad that he'd had the presence of mind to bring his invisibility cloak on that little trip. It would have been bad enough for Malfoy to see him at Hagrid's, but there along with Gryffindors and an illegal baby dragon? No, thank you. As it was, Harry spent his time making sure Malfoy was just antagonizing the Gryffindors and not plotting to get Hagrid in trouble. Harry had no doubt that the groundskeeper would be dragged into this mess, but it did appear as though Malfoy was more interested in having the two Gryffindors trip over their feet in an attempt to find out what he was going to do.

Towards the end of the week, Harry visited Hagrid again. He decided to up his campaign on getting rid of the dragon. As much as he found the creature fascinating, it was _not_ safe to have around a school full of children.

However, he arrived to find Granger and Weasley already there. Thanking the Gods that their backs were to the door, he slipped inside, giving Hagrid a subtle nod and ducking under his invisibility cloak.

"Just let him go," Granger urged, "Set him free." Clearly, he wasn't the only one seeing the issue with keeping the dragon.

"I can't," Hagrid replied, "'e's too lil'. 'e'd die."

They looked at the dragon. It had grown three times in length in just a week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing his grounds keeping duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy. There were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," Hagrid announced, looking at the dragon with misty eyes, "'e really knows me now, watch, Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mommy?"

Harry chocked on a snort. _Norbert? Well, at least it isn't Fluffy. Dear Merlin, I'm _never_ letting him name children._

_"He'sss lossst hisss marblesss," _Seb hissed in Harry's ear. Harry nodded in reply, too busy stifling his giggles to try and speak.

"Hagrid," Granger said loudly, "Give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

Hagrid bit his lip.

"I—I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, I can't."

Granger suddenly turned to Weasley.

"Charlie," she said.

"You're losing it, too," Weasley replied, "I'm Ron, remember?"

"No—Charlie—your brother, Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!"

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Weasley, 'How about it, Hagrid?"

It took them a while, but in the end the two managed to convince Hagrid to let them send an owl to Charlie to ask.

_Well, look at that. It appears as though Gryffindors are useful, after all. I'm going to need to keep an eye on this operation, though. I've got a bad feeling about it._

:~:

The following week whipped by. Harry spent most of his time with Hagrid, observing the baby dragon. His notes on the subject were very detailed—he wrote about what it ate, how much it ate, its preferred types of food, what it liked to play with, how many times it breathed fire (all the time), its ability to recognize people and voices, etc. He went so far as to bring a camera along to document its growth per day and its physical changes—and he wound up with some very cute pictures of Norbert chasing Fang around the hut. Hagrid even left Harry in charge of it a few times in order to make an appearance of doing his grounds keeping duties. Harry introduced Norbert to Sebastian who, as long as he remained in a very large snake form, got along spectacularly with the dragon.

Dragons, apparently, spoke a mutated version of parseltongue, and while Norbert merely babbled like any other baby, it could understand things a lot better when spoken in its mother tongue. So they talked to the dragon every time Hagrid left the hut.

Harry, although he barely admitted it to himself, was growing attached to the little monster. He'd miss the dragon, but—possibly better than Hagrid—he knew that Norbert had to go. Still, his entertainment and extracurricular activity would be halved by its absence.

That Thursday, when Harry visited, Hagrid informed him of 'the plan', which Weasley and Granger had concocted. Charlie—Ron's older brother—was sending some friends of his to pick up Norbert; only, they couldn't be seen with an illegal dragon. Therefore, Weasley and Granger would get Norbert up to the top of the astronomy tower on Saturday at midnight, where the dragon handlers would take it away on broomsticks.

Harry was rather skeptical about it working, but it wasn't his project. _Though I have a feeling that it will become so…I wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life. Trolls, Sorcerer's Stones, dragons…dear Merlin, what's it going to be next year, basilisks? _

Norbert was in a bit of a tricky stage, biting people (Hagrid and Fang, Harry was intelligent enough to get out of the way) and thudding around the house.

"'e's jus' playin'," Hagrid tried to make Harry see his point of view, even as Norbert bit down hard on his boot, "'e's only a baby, after all."

Said 'baby' banged its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle and Sebastian hiss complaints about the hut falling down. Harry, despite his fascination with the dragon, decided that Saturday couldn't come fast enough.

:~:

On Saturday, Harry snuck down to Hagrid's hut just after curfew. He noticed Malfoy had also vacated his bed, but didn't take the precautions that Harry did to make sure no one noticed. _Honestly, sometimes I wonder how he ever got into Slytherin_…

With Sebastian curled around his shoulders and his invisibility cloak protecting him from unfriendly eyes, Harry crept across the grounds and entered the hut. Hagrid was cooing nonsense at Norbert (who was cooing back at him, not that Hagrid could tell, as it was in parseltongue), barely pausing to greet Harry when he entered. They waited for the Gryffindors for quite a while (Hagrid packed Norbert up in a large crate), and Harry began to worry that 'the plan' was already meeting a few hitches.

At last, Granger showed up at the door. Weasley wasn't with her.

"Ron's in the hospital wing," she explained hurriedly, "Remember when Norbert bit him on Wednesday? Well, his whole hand is swollen up and Madam Pomfrey won't let him go. We're worried that she might recognize the bite and tell someone."

"Naw, Madam Pomfrey doesn' rat out students," Hagrid dismissed the issue, "'ere 'e is. 'e's got lots 'o rats an' some brandy fer the journey," he continued in a muffled voice, "An' I've packed his teddy bear in case 'e gets lonely."

Oh yes, that had been entertaining to watch. At that moment, from inside the crate came ripping noises—which sounded to Harry as though the teddy was having his head torn off.

"_Hilariousss…"_ Sebastian commented.

Granger somehow managed to drag the crate out of the hut, though with great difficulty.

"Bye-bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed as she began to lug it up to the castle. "Mommy will never forget yeh!" Soft hisses—imperceptible to both Hagrid and Granger—echoed from the crate.

"_Mommy? Mommy? Dark, where going? Mommy? Where you? MOMMY?"_

Harry bit his lip to avoid making any noise. At that moment, he hated Hagrid for taking on and raising a dragon, full well knowing that he'd have to abandon it as a baby. The dragon didn't deserve to have its world ripped apart when it was so young.

_Merlin, I hope it gets over this and becomes happy once it reaches the reserve,_ Harry thought. He turned his eyes back to a crying Hagrid, who was watching Granger's progress across the grounds to the castle. He rose and peeked out the window.

Granger was clearly having difficulty lugging the crate around. Harry sighed, knowing that there was no way she'd make it up to the astronomy tower by midnight, let alone without getting caught. _And now, it becomes _my_ project._

"Right Hagrid, I've got to go and rescue a Gryffindor from getting into trouble," he groaned as he left the hut, pulling off his invisibility cloak and hiding it in his pocket—there was no reason for Granger to know he had one. Hagrid didn't reply, and Harry doubted the man even knew he left.

"_Ssseb, ssstay hidden,"_ he told his snake, and he ran lightly over the grass to catch up with the dragon and entourage.

"Granger!" he called softly. She jumped, spinning around with a look of horror on her face. Harry quickly raised his hands, palms outward.

"It's only me," he murmured softly, "We need to hurry if we're going to get Norbert up to the tower by midnight." She gaped at him.

"B-but—how—what…"

"Listen, Granger, I'm a friend of Hagrid's. I know all about the dragon, I've spent quite a bit of time with him and it this past week. I'm not going to turn you in, as that would get Hagrid in trouble as well, and God-knows-what they'd do to Norbert. Now, we need to hurry, and we can't go the conventional way. Malfoy's out of bed and roaming around, probably trying to get you caught with an illegal dragon, or something."

"He got Charlie's note from Ron's book, when he went to taunt him in the hospital wing," Granger replied, apparently deciding to just go along with the situation as they really _didn't_ have time to argue. "What way did you want to go, then?"

"There are some secret passages that lead from the entrance hall to the tower," Harry explained as he grabbed one side of the crate and they hoisted it up, continuing on to the castle. Of course, those passages were regular ones, and they'd have to look out for Filch, but it was better than Malfoy. "We can take those, and we won't run into him."

Norbert's crate was rather heavy, and he spent the entire time moving back and forth, sifting the weight and making the crate very difficult to carry. He was also letting out pleading hisses and soft cries for his _"Mommy"_, which made Harry's heart ache. Sebastian, in an effort to ratify the situation, became a very tiny snake and slithered onto Harry's side of the crate, hissing reassurances to the baby dragon. It didn't help much, but Norbert quieted down marginally.

At one point, when they set down the crate on a couple of stairs to rest a moment, Harry slipped some of his own reassurances to Norbert. Throwing up a minor silencing spell around Granger (who didn't notice), he hastily explained that no, Norbert wasn't going to see Hagrid again, but Hagrid really did care about him and thus was sending him to his own kind. Harry wasn't sure that Norbert understood a word he was saying, but the dragon settled down and stopped moving after they started up again (with the silencing ward off of Granger)—meaning that he either took Harry's words to heart or fell asleep.

When crossing between two passages near their destination, they almost ran into Malfoy. Harry dragged Granger and the crate into the next passages as quickly as they could, and the two waited breathlessly for a long moment, peeking through the weave of the tapestry hiding the entrance.

A lamp flared.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and hair net, had Malfoy by the ear.

_I really didn't need to see my teacher like that,_ Harry thought with a mental groan.

"Detention!" she snapped, furious, "Wandering around in the middle of the night, how _dare_ you—"

"You don't understand, Professor. Granger's coming—she's got a dragon!"

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on—I shall see Professor Snape about you, Mr. Malfoy."

They listened in disbelief as McGonagall dragged Malfoy off. Harry winced and sincerely hoped that his Head of House didn't do a bed check after this.

The steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower seemed the easiest thing in the world, after that. Harry was still cautious—there weren't any secret passages once one started to ascend the stairs, and it was fairly easy to be caught up there. At last, they stepped out into the cold night air up at the top.

Granger did a sort of odd jig upon setting the crate down.

"Malfoy's got a detention! I could sing!" she chirped.

"Don't," Harry advised, wishing she hadn't said that. His feeling of apprehension was growing, and he wished the dragon handlers would come already and pick up Norbert, so he could race down the steps and once more be enclosed safely in the secret passages. It was way too exposed up here and there were no escape routes.

About ten minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness.

Charlie's friends were a cheery lot. They showed the two the harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them. They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Harry and Granger shook hands with the others and thanked them very much.

During the commotion, Harry hissed a quiet good-bye to the little dragon.

At last, Norbert was going…going…_gone._

Granger turned to Harry.

"So what now?" she asked quietly.

"Now," Harry murmured, "We sneak back to our dorms. And if we get caught—"

"Then I'm not with you, you're not with me, and it's a complete coincidence that we were in the same general area." Well, that hadn't been what Harry was going to say, but he _did_ appreciate the fact that Granger realized he didn't want to be seen associating with anyone.

"Sounds like a plan." They crept back down the stairs.

Granger stepped first into the corridor, only to let out a small shriek when Filch's face loomed out of the darkness.

"Well, well, well," he whispered, "We _are_ in trouble."

Harry gave Granger a small nod in appreciation when she didn't reveal his presence, simply following Filch down the corridor in shock and horror. He slipped into the secret passage across the way and hurried from the tower.

Unfortunately, although Harry knew the dungeons like the back of his hand, he hadn't done that much exploring in highest levels of the castle and therefore didn't know of _any_ snake passages around the area.

Two floors down, and he ran smack into Filch and Granger when he tried to cross from one secret passage to the next. Harry winced sharply and mentally cursed himself. Filch looked like Christmas and his birthday had come early, rolled into one, and Granger's eyes were wide with shock. She sent a small, apologetic glance in his direction, and he grimaced in response.

"_Two_ firsties out of bed after hours. My, my, Professor McGonagall isn't going to like this at all," Filch crooned as they trudged dejectedly along behind him on the way to the deputy headmistress's office.

They sat and waited for what felt like hours, without a word to each other. Granger was trembling. Harry felt a bit sorry for her, as he doubted she was the type to be roaming around the school after hours on a normal basis. Him, he'd been anticipating something like this happening for quite a long time. _Sooooo, what possible cover-up story can I use to excuse my wandering around. Not that I won't get punished, but…At least Filch didn't catch us at the same time. It'll make this look better._

When Professor McGonagall appeared, she was leading another stricken Gryffindor.

"_Neville!_" Granger breathed in horror. Harry raised an eyebrow. What was this, First-Year-Convention-After-Hours-Night?

"Hermione!" Longbottom burst out, the moment he saw her, "I was trying to find you to warn you, I head Malfoy saying he was going to catch you, he said you had a drag—"

Granger shook her head to shut the boy up, which Harry was thankful for. The last thing they needed was McGonagall to get a conformation on Malfoy's story. At least no one believed he was part of this mess. That might cut down the casualty rate a bit.

Professor McGonagall stared at Harry in complete astonishment for a long time—to the surprise of the Gryffindors—before shaking her head and turning her attention to her two lions. She looked ready to breathe fire.

"I would never believe it of either of you. Mr. Filch says you were up in the astronomy tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. _Explain yourself!_"

This first part was directed at Granger, who merely stared at her shoes, still as a statue.

"I don't believe I can even guess what is going on. Ms. Granger, I thought you were above this sort of thing! What on _Earth_ were you thinking when you fed Malfoy some story about a dra...never mind. I don't even want to know. I'd say you thought it would be amusing to catch Longbottom in the trap as well, but I hope I know you better than that!"

Granger was crying silently, while Longbottom stared at her in shock and betrayal. Harry wisely kept out of the issue. He didn't want to even image how McGonagall would react to finding out he was part of this mess.

At that moment, Filch entered with Malfoy. The boy's eyes widened upon seeing Harry there and he blinked in disbelief.

"Retrieved him for you, Professor," Filch whispered, before leaving.

McGonagall pinched her nose.

"I'm disgusted in the three of you. All out of bed on the same night! All you will receive detention. And fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin,"

"_Professor,_" Malfoy began.

"_Each!_ You three may go. I hope you learned you lesson."

Malfoy and the two Gryffindors trooped out of the room. Harry could distantly hear Hermione whispering frantically to Neville, no doubt explaining the situation. He hoped she left him out of it.

"And _you_, Mr. Potter!" McGonagall rounded on him, "I can't even begin to imagine what _you're_ doing out of bed! Fifty points and a detention like the others. I don't care that you're not related to this mess. Now go!"

Harry left quickly, slipping out into the corridor. He could vaguely hear McGonagall sinking down into a chair and muttering "For the sake of grace, you students will be the death of me."

Well, this was an interesting turn. Hopefully, Malfoy would keep his mouth shut about who lost the second half of the points—or he might blame it all on Harry. Oh well…he wasn't talking to his classmates, anyway.

Harry slipped back into his dorm, deciding that staying out when one of his roommates was awake was simply a bad idea.

"Potter," he heard Malfoy hiss as he crawled into bed, "What were you doing out there?"

"Exploring, Malfoy, what else?" he replied acidly, mentally adding: _and dragging an illegal dragon all over the school, among other things._

Tomorrow was going to be entertaining…_not._

The weekly staff meeting the next day did not start well.

"Minerva," Severus snapped as he stormed in, "Would you care to explain to my why my house is down a_ hundred_ points?"

"If you bothered to look at any other than your own, you'd notice mine's down by the same amount, _Severus_," she growled in return, "And two of your students were caught roaming around last night, as were two of mine."

Momentary silence was created in the staff room as all considered this phenomenon.

"Two Gryffindors, two Slytherins," Sydney started, ticking off the numbers on his fingers, "Dear Merlin, not _another_ duel."

McGonagall looked startled for a moment, but shook her head sharply.

"No, this particular combination was most certainly _not_ dueling," she said ruefully.

"Who was it?" Filius asked curiously.

"Well, in one group of the same story, we had Malfoy, Granger, and Longbottom…"  
"_What?_" Pomona exclaimed, "What were they doing?"

"I really have no idea, they fed me the stupidest excuse about a dragon."

Quiet snickering filled the room, along with soft muttering of "_Granger?_". Minerva turned so she could see the entire staff's reaction to her next statement, especially Severus's.

"And the other Slytherin caught roaming around in—I hope—a completely unrelated scenario was Potter."

The staff didn't disappoint. Sydney and Silvanus both spat out the mouthful of coffee they were drinking. Astoria's eyes went wide. Filius started laughing. Albus raised an eyebrow. Severus moaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Who caught him?" Leo asked, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a handful of Galleons.

"Filch," McGonagall sighed, reaching for her own stash of money.

Severus smirked and held out a hand.

"I told you so," he sneered, causing those betting to scowl at him, "Now pay up."

"You're _betting_ on who would catch him first?" Charity shrieked, indignant.

"_And_ on how long it would take him to get caught," Sydney added unhelpfully, "Speaking of which, how did you manage to win _both _bets, Severus?" he demanded suspiciously.

"I have my ways," the potions master replied, raising his eyebrows.

"And he didn't cheat; well, at least, he didn't tell Mr. Potter to get caught." McGonagall grumbled as she placed three Galleons in his hand, "Potter was too surprised and annoyed with himself in my office for that to work."

"One of these days, Severus, I'm going to figure out how you do this, and then you won't be winning as many bets," Sydney groaned.

Severus's smirk widened.

Both Slytherin and Gryffindor were astonished and horrified to see the loss of points the next morning. Granger and Longbottom were ostracized from their house, subdued in class, and overall miserable.

Malfoy, as predicted, laid all the blame on Harry, who didn't realize this for a few days as he continued with his normal routine of ignoring and avoiding his Housemates. It didn't really alter the state of anything—though he was a bit peeved with Malfoy, and wondered what excuse the pureblood would come up with for the detention.

Hagrid felt horrible about his dragon getting the students into trouble, but Harry told him not to worry. No one believed the dragon story, despite what Malfoy continued to claim (and how he passed off knowing about it without setting off the suspicions of the Slytherins Harry would never know). It especially helped that every time she heard it, Granger lifted a sarcastic, disbelieving eyebrow. Harry had to admit she wasn't that bad (descent acting skills, at least), but she was too stringent with following rules for his further approval. Although, sneaking an illegal dragon out of the school pretty much smashed all those rules to pieces…

To Harry's great interest, the week before exams he overheard another fascinating and revealing conversation, between Professor Quirrell and…_someone._

"No—no—not again, please—"

Harry drew closer to the classroom door, though made sure to stay completely out of sight.

"All right—all right—" he heard the professor sob.

Next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom, straightening his turban. _Now that's _very_ interesting._ He was pale and looked as thought he was about to cry. He strode out of sight, and Harry peeked his head into the classroom. No one was there. _Yes, very interesting indeed._

The following morning, notes were delivered to Harry and Malfoy (and Granger and Longbottom) at the breakfast table.

_Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall._

_**Professor M. McGonagall**_

Harry sighed about the wasted time for studying (and honestly, _why_ did it take so long to assign them detentions? Were the teachers trying to make them fail their exams?), but eleven o'clock found him (and Sebastian) in the front entrance hall with Filch, waiting for Granger, Longbottom, _and_ Malfoy to show up. When they had at last all arrived, Filch led them outside, lighting his lamp.

"Follow me," he croaked, starting off across the grounds. The four of them traded glances, and then Granger and Longbottom—not Gryffindors for nothing—took off after him. Malfoy and Harry gazed at each other for a long moment, before the blond followed the Gryffindors, leaving Harry to slink along behind.

"I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" Filch leered at them, "Oh yes…hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me…It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out…hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed…Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do."

Harry had a feeling that Filch would get along splendidly with his uncle.

They marched across the dark grounds. Longbottom kept sniffing, and Granger strode ahead with determination.

The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Harry could see the lighted window of Hagrid's hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

"Is that yeh, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

Harry's eyebrows rose. Working with Hagrid, were they? Granger visibly brightened.

"I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well think again—it's into the Forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

At this, Longbottom let out a little moan, and Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks. Harry felt a tiny sense of foreboding. Filch's words, intended to scare, had the slightest ring of prophecy to them. _Uhoh…_

"The Forest?" Malfoy repeated, and he didn't sound quite as cool as usual, "We can't go in there at night—there's all sorts of things in there—werewolves, I heard."

Longbottom clutched the sleeve of Granger's robe and made a chocking sound. Harry rolled his eyes. _Honestly, it's not like it's a full moon…doesn't he read at _all_?_

"That's your problem, isn't it?" said Filch, his voice cracking with glee, "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"

Longbottom looked ready to faint.

Hagrid came striding towards them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying a large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

"Abou' time," he said, "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. Alrigh' there, Hermione?"

Harry was grateful that Hagrid didn't acknowledge him. For some reason, the man understood Harry's desire to remain in the shadows.

"I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," replied Filch coldly, "They're here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late, is it?" Hagrid frowned at Filch, "Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from 'ere."

"I'll be back at dawn," called Filch, "For what's left of them," he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Malfoy now turned to Hagrid. _Oh, this is going to be entertaining_, Harry thought with glee.

"I'm not going in that Forest," he sneered, though there was a note of panic in his voice.

"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," Hagrid replied fiercely, "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."

"Bur this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd—"

_Wow, Malfoy, just wow. You are _so_ not protesting for the correct reasons._

"—tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled, "Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather yeh were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on!"

Harry felt that this was rather harsh. He didn't particularly like Malfoy, but he knew the blond was spoilt rotten and not used to this treatment at all. Not that that excused him, but Hagrid could be a bit more—

_You know, he had it coming. I think I'll just let him take it. Never mind._

Malfoy didn't move. He looked at Hagrid furiously, but then dropped his gaze.

"Right then," Hagrid muttered, "Now, listen caref'ly, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over 'ere a'moment."

He led them to the very edge of the Forest. Holding his lamp up high, he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the Forest.

_Ominous, oh so ominous…_

"Look there," said Hagrid, "See that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" Malfoy asked, making a rather good point, in Harry's opinion. Granger clearly saw the logic as well, for her eyebrows were raised high.

"There's nothin' that lives in the Forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," Hagrid replied, "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it musta bin staggerin' aroun' since last night at least."

"I want Fang," Malfoy announced quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth. Harry bit back a laugh. _Don't judge the book by its cover._

"All right, but I warn yeh, 'e's a coward," Hagrid said, "So me, Harry, an' Hermione'll go one way an' Draco, Neville, an' Fang'll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now—that's it—an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh—so, be careful—let's go."

The Forest was black and silent—Harry, creepily enough, felt somewhat at home and decided that once he was older, knew more spells, and had finished with the castle, he wanted to explore the Forest. A little way into it they reached a fork in the earth path, and Harry, Granger, and Hagrid took the left path while Malfoy, Longbottom, and Fang took the right.

They walked in silence, their eyes on the ground. Well, Hagrid and Granger's eyes were on the ground, Harry—being the paranoid person he was—glanced around, observing everything. Every now and then a ray of moonlight though the branches above lit up a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves.

Harry saw that Hagrid looked very worried.

"_Could_ a werewolf be killing the unicorns?" Granger asked.

"Not fast enough," Hagrid replied, "It's not easy ter catch a unicorn, they're powerful magic creatures. I never knew one ter be hurt before."

They walked past a mossy tree stump. Harry could hear running water; there must be a stream somewhere close by. There were still spots of unicorn blood here and there along the winding path.

"Yeh all right, Hermione?" Hagrid whispered, "Don' worry, it can't've gone far if it's this badly hurt, an' then we'll be able ter—GET BEHIND THAT TREE!"

Hagrid seized Harry and Granger and hoisted them off the path behind a towering oak. He pulled out an arrow and fitted it into his crossbow, raising it, ready to fire. The three of them listened. Something was slithering over dead leaves nearby: it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away.

"I knew it," he murmured, "There's summat in 'ere that shouldn' be."

"A werewolf?" Granger suggested, making Harry wonder about her apparent preoccupation with them.

"That wasn' no werewolf an' it wasn' no unicorn, neither," Hagrid replied grimly, "Right, follow me, but careful, now."

They walked more slowly, ears straining for the faintest sound. Suddenly, in a clearing ahead, something definitely moved.

"Who's there?" Hagrid called, "Show yerself—I'm armed!"

And into the clearing came—a centaur. Granger's jaw dropped, and Harry raised an appreciative eyebrow.

"Oh, it's yeh, Ronan," said Hagrid with relief, "How are yeh?"

He walked forward and shook the centaur's hand.

"Good evening to you, Hagrid," the centaur said solomly. He had a deep, sorrowful voice. "Were you going to shoot me?"

"Can't be too careful, Ronan," replied Hagrid, patting his crossbow, "There's summat bad loose in this Forest. This is Harry Potter an' Hermione Granger, by the way. Students up at the school. And this is Ronan, yeh two. He's a centaur."

"We noticed," Granger said faintly.

"Honored to make your acquaintance," Harry whispered quietly, shooting a slightly disapproving look at the girl.

"Good evening," Ronan said with dignity, "Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?"

"A bit," Granger answered timidly, while Harry nodded.

"A bit. Well, that's something," Ronan sighed. He flung back his head and stared at the sky. "Mars is bright tonight."

"Yeah," Hagrid glanced up as well, "Listen, I'm glad we've run inter yeh, Ronan, 'cause there's a unicorn bin hurt—yeh seen anythin'?"

Ronan didn't answer immediately. He stared unblinkingly upward, then sighed again.

"Always the innocent are the first victims," he murmured, "So it has been for ages past, so it is now."

Harry shivered. He had a feeling that Ronan was referring to something far greater than this unicorn hunt.

"Yeah," said Hagrid, "But have yeh seen anythin', Ronan? Anythin' unusual?"

"Mars is bright tonight," Ronan repeated while Hagrid watched him impatiently, "Unusually bright."

Harry—after a momentary pause for a mental snicker (honestly, that was a hilarious comeback)—considered this statement. From what he'd read about centaurs, they didn't repeat anything except to emphasize a fact. _And Mars—Roman God of War. Uhoh…_

"Yeah, but I was meanin' anythin' unusual a bit nearer home," Hagrid sighed, "So yeh haven' noticed anythin' strange?"

Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer.

At last, he said, "The Forest hides many secrets."

_Obviously—I really, really want to explore here._

A movement in the trees behind Ronan made Hagrid raise his bow again, but it was only a second centaur, a bit wilder looking than Ronan.

"Hullo, Bane," Hagrid greeted him, "All right?"

"Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?"

"Well enough. Look, I've jus' bin askin' Ronan, yeh seen anythin' odd in 'ere lately? Only there's a unicorn bin injured—would yeh know anythin' about it?"

Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skywards.

"Mars is bright tonight," he said simply.

Harry fought back another snicker, although a tingle of anxiety ran down his spine. This was _not_ good.

"We've heard," said Hagrid grumpily. "Well, if either of yeh do see anythin', let me know, won' yeh? We'll be off, then."

Harry and Granger followed him out of the clearing.

"Never," grumbled Hagrid irritably, "Try an' get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy star-gazers. Not interested in anythin' closer'n the moon."

"Are there many of them in here?" asked Granger.

"Oh, a fair few...Keep to themselves mostly, but they're good enough about turnin' up if I ever want a word. They're deep, mind, centaurs...they know things...jus' don' let on much."

"Do you think—what we heard earlier—was a centaur?" Granger's voice rose hopefully.

"Did that sound like hooves to yeh? Nah, if yeh ask me, that was what's bin killin' the unicorns—never heard anythin' like it before."

_And that's not good at all,_ Harry concluded, _Honestly, sending first years—who know next to no defensive spell—out into a forest to track down a unicorn killer…_

They walked on through the dense, dark trees. Harry continually glanced over his shoulder…and above into the canopy, to either side, down at the ground, etc. He had a nasty feeling that he was being watched.

"_Ssseb,"_ he hissed very, very quietly, _"Keep an eye out for anything odd, unusssual, or moving."_

"_Will do," _the snake hissed in return.

They had just passed a bend in the path when Granger grabbed Hagrid's arm.

"Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!"

"Yeh two wait 'ere!" Hagrid shouted, "Stay on the path, I'll come back for yeh!"

They heard him crashing away through the undergrowth and off into the trees.

_Ok, that was one of the stupidest moves I've ever seen,_ Harry thought, raising his wand and glancing around frantically, _Leaving two, nearly unarmed kids to fend for themselves. And what happens when whatever-it-is decides to come and eat us?_

The minutes dragged by; Harry focused intently on the noises of the Forest. Nothing too unusual: skittering of small animals, flutter of wings, chirping of insects, very faint crunch of light boots on leaves…_wait_…

The new noise was suddenly drowned out by the great crunching announcing Hagrid's return. _Damn it! Well, I'm sure about one thing…there's _someone_ out in this Forest with us…_

Malfoy, Longbottom, and Fang trooped along after him. Hagrid was fuming. Malfoy, it seemed, had sneaked up behind Longbottom and grabbed him for a joke. Longbottom had panicked and sent up the sparks.

Harry glared at his classmate. There they were, in the _Forbidden Forest_, in the _middle of the night_, and all Malfoy could think about was _frightening_ Longbottom?

_Malfoy,_ he thought dryly, _You really missed out on the Slytherin sense of self-preservation._

"We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket yeh two were makin'. Right, we're changin' groups—Neville, yeh stay with me an' Hermione, Harry, yeh go with Fang an' this idiot."

_Wait a moment…oh well, it's probably for the best. God, why did I get Fang? _Mice _scare him!_

"I'm sorry," Hagrid added in a whisper to Harry, "But 'e'll have a harder time frightenin' yeh, an' we gotta get this done."

"Nothing to worry about," Harry replied as the other three began to argue, "He's my Housemate, even if I don't like him so much. I can put up with him."

So Harry set off into the heart of the Forest with Malfoy and Fang. Or rather, Malfoy and Fang set off and Harry slunk along behind, still glancing everywhere, feeling more paranoid by the minute.

"What, Potter, afraid?" Malfoy taunted after the sound of the other group faded into the distance. His voice echoed in the quiet, causing Harry to wince. He turned to the blond in disbelief.

"Yes Malfoy," he replied in a low murmur, as it didn't carry as far as a whisper, "And if you had any sense, you'd be scared out of your wits too."

Malfoy looked skeptical and opened his mouth to continue taunting—probably at the top of his lungs. Harry cut him off in the simplest way he could think of: he clamped a hand over the boy's mouth.

"Listen to me," he muttered as low as he possibly could, in Malfoy's ear, "We're in the Forbidden Forest looking for a _dying_ unicorn. What does that tell you? It means that there's someone out there that's ferocious and/or evil enough to severely injure an extremely magical creature. We're _first years._ Thanks to Quirrell, we know next to no defense spells, and can only employ what we've learned outside of class. And when whoever killed the unicorn comes upon us, what are you going to do? Throw a _lumos_ in its face?"

Malfoy stared at Harry as he slowly took his hand away, glancing quickly about the woods again.

"Potter, what do you know?" he demanded in a whisper, "And what do you mean, some_one_?"

"Hush," Harry murmured, "Don't whisper, they carry far." Malfoy sent a disbelieving, where-did-you-learn-that look. Harry ignored him.

"Earlier with Hagrid we heard something slinking around—which sounded like a cloak being dragged over the ground. And, when he took off to drag your sorry arse over to where we were, I heard really light footsteps stalking through the trees. We met up with some centaurs—yes centaurs, hush—and they continually warned about Mars being bright and the innocent being the victims. I sure as Hell hope they were referring to the unicorn and not us. Trust me on this, Malfoy, we do _not_ want to run into this person at _all_."

Harry took a half-step away and continued to span the Forest with his gaze. Malfoy was staring at him with what was now an appropriate amount of terror and Harry hoped that his year-mate had _finally_ grasped the reality of the situation.

"Let's move, I don't like staying in one place for too long," he said quietly, "And try not to make that much noise when you walk. Fang, quit whining. I can't hear well when you do it."

He took off down the path again, Fang leading and Malfoy following, doing a descent job of walking quietly.

"I know some defense spells," Malfoy murmured near silently. _Good, he can learn after all._ "They're not—well…"

"Legal?" Harry guessed, knowing Slytherins, and pureblood ones at that, "I think if we run into anything, Malfoy, we'll have a bigger problem on our hands that worrying about the legality of what we use to defend ourselves. Try to avoid the Unforgivables, though," he added as an after-thought.

Malfoy stared at him.

"You know, Potter, you're not like what anyone imagined," he commented quietly.

"Yes, well, none of you bothered to find out, did you? Hush, I need to listen."

They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the Forest—Malfoy nervously getting closer to him—until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so dense.

Harry thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. He could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

"Look—" he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.

It was a unicorn all right, and it was dead.

"_Shit_," Harry muttered, taking in the sight of the unicorn in front of him. He'd never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly white on the dark leaves.

Malfoy started to take a step into the clearing—apparently, the sight of the dead unicorn struck some note in him as well—but Harry grabbed onto his robes and yanked him back.

"Wha—" the blond turned towards him, protest dying on his lips as his eyes met Harry's wide, darting gaze. As a precaution, Harry clamped a hand over his mouth. Malfoy was clearly too scared to be indignant.

They stood frozen for a long second, long enough to hear a slithering, dragging sound—like a cloak over leaves—nearby.

A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered…

Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Malfoy, and Fang stood transfixed, horrified and shaking. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.

Harry felt like he was going to be sick. _Oh God, oh God, oh God…_ran though his mind over and over again. There was no way in hell Hagrid could get there fast enough to protect them, and Harry somehow knew that if they so much as twitched, whoever-it-was would know that they were there.

His hand stopped the muffled scream from Malfoy before it could even begin to form, and Harry was never more grateful for his foresight in human behavior.

Unfortunately, while he was so busy preventing Malfoy from moving, he forgot about Fang.

The dog took one look at the figure drinking unicorn blood and bolted. He went tearing through the trees, making an awful racket, and drawing the figure's attention directly to the two students.

The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Harry—unicorn blood was dribbling down its front.

It didn't even appear to see Malfoy, though the blond was in front of him—no, its hooded face focused only on Harry's.

It got to its feet and came swiftly towards him.

Harry shoved Malfoy violently to the side. He didn't care that much for his fellow first year, but the figure was clearly after him and him alone for some reason. _Great time to find out I have a 'saving-people' complex. Guess the Sorting Hat was right._

He vaguely heard Malfoy yelling at the top of his lungs and sending up volley after volley of red sparks—he was rather preoccupied with a more disturbing phenomenon. A pain pierced his head like he'd never felt before, it was as though his scar was on fire, fierce, splitting, agonizing pain—half-blinded, he staggered backwards, tripping over a tree-root, his hand rising to his forehead. His fingers came away from his scar sticky with blood.

The cloaked figure, silver blood still dripping from its lips, flew towards him; the pain in his forehead increased exponentially the closer it got.

He heard hooves behind him, galloping, and something jumped clean over him, charging at the figure.

The pain in Harry's head was so bad he rolled over on his side, dry-heaving and shaking, unable to see, a dull roaring filling his ears. It took a long, long minute to pass. When he came back to himself, he could feel Malfoy shaking his shoulder lightly, eyes darting around the clearing and surrounding Forest frantically.

"Merlin, Potter, what did it _do_ to you?" his Housemate asked, horrified.

"Headache," Harry managed to croak.

"_Why yesss, amigo, I quite image you have a headache. In fact, that'sss the greatessst underssstatement I've heard all year!"_ Seb was livid with worry.

Harry was just glad Malfoy appeared to be too distracted to notice he had a snake coiled around his torso. He followed the blonds gaze to the new being in the clearing.

Another centaur was standing over them, not Ronan or Bane; this one looked younger; he had white-blonde hair and a palomino body.

"Are you all right?" questioned the centaur, reaching out a hand and helping the students to their feet.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you. Who was that?"

"_Fine_? Potter, that doesn't look fine to me. Your face is covered in blood!"

"Is it?" Harry asked, distractedly raising a hand to his cheek, blinking when it came away coated with the dark liquid.

"Potter..." Malfoy whispered pleadingly, though for what, Harry really didn't know.

"So do you have any idea who that was?" Harry inquired again, as though they were conversing about cloud configuration on a sunny day.

The centaur didn't answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on the scar which stood out, livid and bleeding, on Harry's forehead.

"You are the Potter boy," he said softly, an eerie light in his eyes, "You had better get back to Hagrid," he continued, addressing both of them, now, "The Forest is not safe at this time—especially for you," again, directed at Harry. _Uhoh…_ "Can you ride? It will be quicker this way. My name is Firenze," he added, as he lowered himself on to his front legs so that Harry could clamber on to his back.

"Can you carry both of us?" Harry asked—leaving Malfoy behind was simply not an option.

At the centaurs nod, he turned to the blond.

"You get on first—I've never ridden before."

Malfoy clamored—elegantly—onto the centaur, and Harry followed clumsily behind, settling himself and clinging to Malfoy's waist. _My, this is awkward._

There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Ronan and Bane came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

"Firenze!" Bane thundered, startling Harry. His headache had gone down a bit, but there was a dull throbbing ache behind his eyes. The noise level wasn't helping. He bit back a moan. "What are you doing? You have a man on your back! Two of them! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"

"Do you realize who this is?" asked Firenze, "This is the Potter boy," as if Malfoy didn't count for anything…what was _with_ these people? "The quicker he leaves the Forest, the better."

_Oh joy, this is starting to sound worse and worse…_

"What have you been telling him?" growled Bane, "Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?"

_So they know what's going on, but aren't allowed to tell us, except in hints that no one can interpret…yes, that sounds like seers, alright._

Ronan pawed the ground nervously.

"I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best," he murmured, in his gloomy voice.

Bane kicked his legs in anger.

"For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our Forest!"

Firenze suddenly reared on to his hind legs in anger, so that Malfoy had to grab his shoulders to stay on. Harry tightened his grip on Malfoy's waist and bit his lip to muffle his scream—rather unsuccessfully—a quiet sob of pain escaping his mouth. Dear _God_, his head was killing him. If this kept up, he'd be puking again.

"For the love of Merlin, will you _stop_?" Malfoy demanded, "Potter's hurt and you're all arguing as if you have all the time in the world!"

"I'm fine," Harry protested, with a very unconvincing moan of agony, "Just peachy." It was actually a rather novel experience. He'd never had someone stand up for him because he was injured before. Ahh well, within the next few days he was sure he and Malfoy would be back to avoiding each other.

"Do you not see that unicorn?" Firenze bellowed at Bane, completely ignoring the students, "Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this Forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must."

And Firenze whisked around; with Malfoy and Harry clutching on as best they could. They plunged off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them.

Harry didn't remember much of the ride back to the others. His head was pounding, every jolt from Firenze sending pain lancing through his scar. He kept his grip on Malfoy and prayed that the ride would be over soon.

"Harry! Harry, are yeh all right?"

Hagrid came puffing down the path, Granger and Longbottom hurrying behind.

"I'm fine," Harry managed, hardly knowing what he was saying. Malfoy snorted in disbelief. "The unicorn's dead, Hagrid, it's in that clearing back there." He gestured back the way they came.

"I'll look at it tomorrow," Hagrid said, helping boys off of Firenze's back.

"This is where I leave you," Firenze murmured to Harry as Malfoy—now convinced that Harry's heath was no longer his responsibility—began ranting at Hagrid about taking first years into the Forest with dangerous beings running around. "You are safe now. Good luck, Harry Potter. The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times."

_Well _that_ doesn't bode well at all._

The centaur turned and cantered back into the depths of the Forest, leaving Harry shivering behind him. Well, at least he got another survival rule out of this whole mess.

_Don't rely on centaurs for straight answers_

:~:

Dawn was just beginning to creep into the sky when they broke free from the trees. Harry—in the time between when Firenze had left and before Hagrid and the Gryffindors noticed—had managed to wipe the blood off of his face. Without the evidence of injury, Hagrid was oblivious to the fact that Harry had been hurt and thus didn't insist on him visiting the hospital wing. He left the students to make their way up to the school on their own and headed off to his hut calling a loud "Good-bye".

The journey back to the castle was about as entertaining as the ride on the centaur had been—that is, not at all and very painful (for Harry, at least). When they finally reached the doors, the Gryffindors took off in one direction; Granger muttering something about going to talk to Professor McGonagall, as there was no way she was _ever_ serving another detention like this one. Longbottom followed timidly after her and Malfoy turned to head down to the dungeons. Harry slumped against the wall and focused on not fainting.

"Potter," a light touch on his shoulder jerked him out of his haze and he glanced up to meet Malfoy's eyes. "You're going to the hospital wing, I hope?"

Harry shook his head, wincing. _ Oh, bad idea._

"Sleep," he muttered, pushing himself off the wall and starting down the corridor, trailed by a—dare he think it—_concerned_ Malfoy.

"Potter," the blond began again once they started to descend into the depths of the dungeons, "I owe you a minor life-debt. What do you want?" He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Harry, had he been capable of thinking clearly, might have seized advantage of the situation. As it was, there were only two things he wanted from Malfoy at the moment.

"First—don't mention what happened tonight and don't try to talk to me in the future. Just because we took on a unicorn killer doesn't mean we're friends," he stated, leaning on the wall briefly and glancing back to see Malfoy's startled face, "Second—when you go and protest to Professor Snape today (and don't bother denying it, I know you will), I don't want you to mention I got hurt."

"What? Why?" Malfoy asked in bewilderment.

"He's annoyingly perceptive enough as it is—the last thing I need is for him to drag me down to the hospital wing. You can tell him whatever you want about everything up to the clearing, but don't mention what the figure did to me."

He headed off before the blond could answer, convinced that—though he might wish otherwise—Malfoy would follow his request.

Sinking onto his bed and pulling his curtains around him, Harry slowly let himself relax for the first time since entering the Forest. Warding the canopy and hitting himself with a few cleaning spells, he sank back onto the pillows, considering all that happened that night.

"_Alright, Ssseb, you can come out now."_

The snake didn't disappoint.

"_Are you feeling alright, amigo?"_ he asked as he slithered out of Harry's robes, _"What do you think that wasss?"  
_Harry sighed.

"_Ssseb," _he began, still speaking very quietly, _"I need to bounce sssome ideasss off of you. Jussst lisssten and tell me if my thought processs isss logical."_

"_Sssure, amigo."_

"_Ok, let'sss ssstart. Firssst, what do you know about unicorn blood?"_

"_Nothing."_

"_According to a potionsss book I wasss reading, killing a unicorn isss one of the greatessst crimesss out there. Why? Becaussse they're ssso _'pure'_. I'm not sssure _why_ they're like thisss, but the point isss only sssomeone who hasss nothing to lossse and everything to gain would kill one. Unicorn blood will keep you alive, even if you're an inch from Death'sss door. However, like all thingsss, it comesss with a price. The greater the miracle, the greater the price._

"_Now, being able to keep sssomeone from dying isss an enormousss miracle, and thusss the consssequence of drinking unicorn blood isss horrific. Whoever doesss ssso will live a half-life, a cursssed life, from the moment the blood touchesss their lipsss."_

"_Then why would anyone do it?"_ Seb interjected.

"_Who knowsss? Point of fact isss thisss—we've essstablissshed that _sssomeone_ isss out there who isss willing to go to great lengthsss (including living a cursssed life) in order to continue to sssurvive. _

"_Sssecond idea: why would thisss _sssomeone_ decide to ssstay around the cassstle to remain alive? Hogwartsss isss highly protected and Dumbledore—the Headmassster—isss rumored to be the mossst powerful wizard out there at the moment. There are other foressstsss with unicornsss that are in far lesss defended areasss. Ssso why pick _thisss_ particular foressst? Why Hogwartsss?"_

"_Wait…thisss wouldn't have sssomething to do with—"_

"_Yesss, precisssely. What isss at Hogwartsss right now that the other foressstsss don't have? The Sssorcerer's Ssstone. Which, consssequently, jussst ssso happensss to be an elixir of life. And we've already essstablissshed that thisss _sssomeone_ will go to great lengthsss to remain alive…mossst likely including trying to sssteal a well-guarded artifact in a ssschool full of children headed by a very, _very_ powerful wizard."_

"_Oh dear."_

"_My thoughtsss exactly."_

"_And what isss your reasssoning behind thisss _sssomeone_ attacking you? Don't think I didn't notice that it went after you and not Malfoy. Ssso it clearly wasssn't attacking jussst any ssstudent. And it hurt you with sssome ssspell or other."_

"_I've been thinking about that. The thing isss, it _didn't _hit me with a ssspell. My ssscar ssstarted bleeding…among other thingsss."_

"_Your ssscar. The sssame ssscar that you're famousss for."_

"_Yesss. The ssscar I got when an evil wizard tried to kill me. And what happened to him?"_

"_He died, amigo."_

"_Well yesss, that'sss what the textbooksss sssay. But remember that conversssation a few monthsss ago with Hagrid?"_

"_The one where he sssaid Dumbledore thought Voldemort wasss ssstill alive? Oh…"_

"_Ahh ,ssso you sssee it too. My ssscar mysssteriousssly ssstartsss hurting and bleeding, there are dead unicornsss ssshowing up in the foressst, an elixir of life isss at thisss ssschool…Ssseb, why would thisss _sssomeone_ attach me? Why would the sssight of _me_ of all people enrage thisss perssson beyond rationality? It would have been a far sssmarter move to flee if thisss _sssomeone_ wasss after the Ssstone, for if two firssst yearsss were found dead in the foressst, the entire ssschool would have been combed for the intruder. Yet, it threw caution to the windsss and attached me."_

"_And in doing ssso causssed your ssscar to bleed."_

"_Tell me, Ssseb, what lengthsss do you think Voldemort would go to, to keep himself alive?"_

"Minerva, what on _Earth_ happened last night?" Severus demanded upon entering the staff meeting. "Draco Malfoy spent the entire morning complaining to me about a detention involving the Forbidden Forest, centaurs, dead unicorns, and _something_ out there which appeared to be drinking unicorn _blood_."

"WHAT?" shrieked Pomona, white with shock.

"Well that's something to add to last night's escapade. Ms. Granger didn't mention _that_ one," Minerva sighed, "Though she hit all the rest of the points."

"Wait," Filius began, staring at the Deputy Headmistress in disbelief, "So we had _how_ many first years roaming around the Forest, looking for _dead _unicorns, for _how_ long last night?"

"Till dawn," Severus sank into a chair with a sigh, "From what Malfoy tells me, it was him, Granger, Longbottom, and Potter…the whole convention that was caught gallivanting around the school earlier this month."

"I thought we only sent _seventh_ years out with Hagrid for Forest detentions?" Rolanda asked, weakly.

"We do," Minerva replied, "There were two groups serving detention last night. A handful of seventh years and the four first years. The seventh years were supposed to go into the Forest, while the first years were meant to scrub the trophy room. Somehow, the detentions got switched."

"What?"

"How?"

"I don't really know. And Filch was—well—too delighted with the idea of terrifying first years to question the switch, and Hagrid would take any help he could get. He doesn't have the greatest sense of what's dangerous versus what's not."

"Dear Merlin…does anyone know what happened out there, then?" Sydney breathed.

Minerva and Severus exchanged glances.

"Well, Ms. Granger ranted at me for about half of an hour before I sent her to bed. She said that they split into two groups which later changed to be her, Hagrid, and Longbottom, and the Slytherins with Fang."

"They _split up?_" Filius asked, incredulously.

"Oh, it gets better," Severus assured him grimly.

"Ms. Granger said that they ran into a bunch of centaurs, but that there was also something sneaking around in the Forest, whom they didn't meet."

"Whom _her_ group didn't meet," Severus corrected darkly. The staff turned to stare at him, horrified. He sighed.

"According to Malfoy, when the groups re-aligned themselves—something to do with fooling around—Potter, Malfoy, and Fang took off in a separate direction. Malfoy said Potter was convinced that something was stalking them and that he was absolutely paranoid about the whole ordeal."

"Smart kid," Leo commented quietly.

"Apparently, they found this clearing with a dead unicorn in it—"

"_Merlin_, they _found_ the poor thing? When they were all by themselves? Did they at least go to Poppy for a calming potion?" Astoria demanded.

"No one came to see me," Poppy glanced towards the door as if she were dying to get the four children into the hospital wing.

"Anyway," Severus scowled at the interruptions, "While they were observing the clearing, a figure came out, knelt down, and started drinking the unicorn's blood."

Silence. Complete, utter silence.

"The rest of the story isn't that clear. Malfoy _claims_ that the figure attacked the two of them when Hagrid's dog took off and that they were saved by a _centaur_, which then allowed them to ride on his _back _to get to Hagrid as fast as possible. Naturally, I was a bit skeptical of this, but I haven't had time to check it with Hagrid yet, and Malfoy believed what he was saying."

Another moment of silence.

"Those poor children," Charity said at last, "What are we going to do?"

While the staff debated the situation, Severus leaned back in his chair and observed Minerva.

"The question you should be asking," he broke into the conversation some minutes later, "Is how the detentions got switched, when I know that there are charms on the listings to prevent this very sort of thing from happening. Strong charms. _Very_ strong charms."

More silence.

* * *

Notes:

No, I don't hate Hagrid. We all know that he didn't think very far ahead when deciding to hatch Norbert, but hell, if any of us were in his situation, we'd of probably hatched an illegal dragon too. I'm simply trying to emphasize Harry's point of view. He grew up an orphan in an abusive household—naturally, he's going to be a bit defensive of other orphans (which is basically what Norbert is) and rather critical about how people treat them. That's why he was a bit upset with Hagrid when Norbert freaked out upon leaving. I'm not blaming Hagrid at _all_…

Harry helping Hermione—I needed an excuse to get him into the forest detention, and if he was wandering around like normal, he wouldn't be caught. It's not a sign of friendship at all, he simply wants to help out Hagrid and he's rather attached to Norbert—it doesn't have anything to do with Hermione.

I have a feeling that the teachers (no matter how incompetent they prove on other occasions) would not deliberately assign the first years a detention in the Forbidden Forest. Thus, this "mess-up" as I made it out to be was yet another attempt of Quirrell's at killing Harry. Obviously, it didn't work..

On the same note as Harry and Hermione, Harry and Draco will also _NOT_ be friends. They were conversing because it was a life or death scenario. Although Draco is now a bit wised up—so to speak—about who Harry really is, this will only make him wary of Harry, not befriend him. As for the "minor life-debt", well, I didn't intend to put that in there, but I needed Harry to have _something _over Malfoy to prevent him from telling Snape about the blood-drinking figure, who we all know to be Quirrell.


	6. Running the Gauntlet

Well, here it is: the very last chapter. Rather astonishing, really, as it _has_ taken a year to finish. Ahh well...hope you like it.

Note: there will _not_ be a sequel to the story, at least not yet. I might consider it in the distant future, but at the moment there's another story I'm working on, and I don't want to make any promises of a sequel to get in the way.

Thanks to all of you who reviewed.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

The very last day in May—and, consequently, the day before the exams started—found Harry locked in a ferocious argument with his snake (who also just so happened to be his best friend).

"_No, Ssseb, there'sss _no_ way I'm letting you go out there. Thisss isss absssolute madnesss."_

"_Look, amigo, it makesss sssenssse. We need to find out if _it_ isss ssstill out in the Foressst. Naturally, ssseeing how it attacked you the lassst time you were there, _you_ can't go out looking for it. However, no one knowsss about me, and I'm more than able to defend myself—I can turn into any type of sssnake, after all. Therefore, it makesss _sssenssse_ that I go out looking for it."_

"_Ssseb…"_

"_No amigo, I'm going."_

The 'conversation' went back and forth for quite some time, but in the end it was decided that Sebastian would, in fact, go out to see if there was still any sign of the unicorn stalker.

"_I'll be fine, amigo,"_ he assured to Harry's worried countenance, _"I'll be back before you know it. Jussst, try to ssstay out of trouble while I'm gone, alright?"_

In the three days before his friend's return, Harry grew steadily more paranoid. Having become so used to feeling Sebastian wrapped around him—in some form or other—to not have him there made Harry feel unnaturally vulnerable. He stayed hidden at all times when he wasn't taking exams and he avoided contact with everyone, praying that the snake would return soon.

The exams themselves were very easy. Thanks to rigorous reviewing since the beginning of April, even his potions exam wasn't too difficult, though having Professor Snape breathe down their necks as they attempted to remember how to brew a Forgetfulness Potion (height of all ironies, in Harry's opinion; it was rather obvious that the potions master had a twisted sense of humor) definitely didn't help.

Then, the night before the last exam, Sebastian managed to drag himself back home.

Harry was jolted from his revision by a sharp spike of worry from the castle.

_**What is it?**_

Hogwarts sent in an image of one _very_ injured snake, lying limp on the grass outside the front doors. Harry felt his heart stutter.

_*__**Hurry**__*_ the castle sent to him, but Harry was already flying through the passages.

He found Sebastian exactly where Hogwarts had shown him the snake would be. The long black mamba—body crushed and torn by what looked like claw marks—lay perfectly still on the grass, a faint trail of blood showing how he'd dragged himself to his current location. Harry knelt down and gingerly, delicately, ran a few diagnosis spells over his friend.

Seb was still alive, but barely. Swallowing hard, Harry levitated his snake—too worried about injuring him further to pick him up—and slipped back into the castle.

_**Hogwarts, lady, I need somewhere that I can heal him. I don't know any healing spells that work on snakes. I don't know any potions—I don't kno—I—**_

Soothing emotions flooded his mind, calming him down. Harry let himself be lulled into a state of tranquility. Hogwarts was going to take care of the problem.

*_**This way**__*_

The castle led him through a series of corridors and passages, until at last he—and Seb's limp body—arrived on the seventh floor, in front of a tapestry of a wizard attempting to teach trolls how to dance. _Barnabas the Barmy_, his prepped-for-history-exam-which-happened-to-be-tomorrow mind informed him.

Hogwarts sent him an image of someone pacing back and forth three times in front of the tapestry. The person had a comic-like thought bubble filled with images of books and people healing snakes.

Swallowing once more, Harry followed these somewhat odd directions. He paced back and forth three times, fervently imagining a place where he could heal Sebastian.

A door appeared in the previously blank wall across from the tapestry. Harry opened it and darted it, closing the door firmly behind him before turning and taking a look at the room.

A long table sat in the center, one side was stacked with books (with titles like "How to heal you snake" and "Easy healing for difficult injuries"). On the wall were plastered various posters of snake anatomy, the various parts of the snake clearly labeled.

Harry laid Sebastian very gently on the table. The top most book on the pile flew over to a blank spot on the hard surface, pages flipping rapidly as if turned by an invisible hand, until at last it came to rest on a double spread of healing spells. Harry wiped his hands on his robes, drew a deep breath, and began.

He didn't know how long he worked—casting spells, healing wounds, reading frantically, studying charts. At last, he let his wand fall from his numb fingers and sank gratefully into a chair which the obliging room provided.

Sebastian was out of danger, but it would be at least a week until he was able to move around comfortably again. Harry, now that his horror and worry had passed, was furious, annoyed, and very hurt. Seb could have died, his best and first friend had almost _left_ him, he—

_*__**Sleep**__*_ Hogwarts thought at him, the room providing a bed.

An image filtered through his mind, of Hogwarts waking him up before he went to take his last exam.

Harry slept.

:~:

He awoke refreshed, though it was only a few hours later. Sitting up and blinking bemusedly at the room, he attempted to remember what happened last night—aside from healing his snake, which he doubted he'd ever forget.

_Hmm, let's see…Hogwarts led me all over the castle until we reached a tapestry of…Barnabas the Barmy. Where have I heard that name before? Outside of History of Magic, that is? Think, think, thi—wait. Didn't that ghost who told me how to get to the kitchens say something about pacing in front of the tapestry to get to the 'Come and Go' room? This must be it, then._

He gazed about the room in interest, idly wondering what time it was. Four different types of clocks abruptly popped out of the air in front of him: a grandfather clock, a muggle digital clock, one which kept military time, and a wizard one (without the usual numbers, instead having arms point to various phrases such as 'time to eat' or 'time to study'—or in this case 'two hours before your exam').

_**Hogwarts**__?_ Harry thought in complete bewilderment.

*_**Hmm**__?*_

_**What **_**is**_** this place?**_

_*__**Room of Requirement**__*_

_**Wait…so it will provide me with anything I require?**__  
*__**Mostly**__*_

_**Oh…I thought it was the 'Come and Go' room?**__  
*__**Also that**__.*_

_**Ahh…Thank you for last night**__._

_*__**No problem**__.*_

Harry got up, stretched, and went over to see if Sebastian was going to wake up. After only a little bit of prodding and calls of _"Come on, Ssseb…"_, the snake stirred.

"_Amigo…"_ Seb's hiss was very weak, but it did confirm that he was still alive.

"_Thank God,"_ Harry breathed, fervently.

"_What happened?"_

"_Well, Hogwartsss found you right outssside the front doorsss in piecesss. I ssspent all of lassst night trying to heal you. Perhapsss _you_ would care to explain 'what happened'?"_

"_Oh…ran into sssomething with a lot of clawsss. Not fun. It'sss probably dead now, anyway, I injected a ton of venom into it…didn't work fassst enough, though. Sssorry, amigo."_

"_Sss'alright, Ssseb…jussst don't do it again. Next time, I'm going with you or you're not going at all."_

"_Ok."_

Harry gently lifted Sebastian off the table and let the snake curl gingerly around his shoulders and torso under his robe. Seb went right back to sleep, and after thanking the Room of Requirement (verbally—it was a good idea to keep all parts of the castle on his side, and in this case he was _really_ appreciative), he stepped out into the corridor, heading for breakfast.

:~:

One exam later of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd invented self-stirring cauldrons and he was free, free for a whole wonderful week until his exam results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Harry barely refrain from cheering with the rest.

He ventured out into the warm, sunny day, flopping down under a tree and pulling out a book in an unsuccessful attempt to ignore the tingling pains from his scar.

"_Amigo, are you alright?"_ Sebastian had woken up.

"_My ssscar'sss hurting again."_

"_That'sss…not good."_

"_No, it really isssn't. And I've got a bad feeling. _Really_ bad."_

_"Oh dear."_

The sight of an owl fluttering towards the school across the bright blue sky—a note clamped in its mouth—brought his mind to the groundskeeper. Hagrid was the only one who ever sent him letters. Well, except for Dumbledore, that one time, at Christmas, but that didn't really count…

Harry buried his head in his hands with a groan.

_Honestly, why can't I focus on anything?_ He thought helplessly to himself, _This is almost as bad as when Norbert was arou—_

Norbert…Hagrid…Dumbledore…

Harry jumped to his feet, taking off briskly, but subtly (it would be bad if anyone noticed) across the grounds to Hagrid's hut.

"_Where are we going?"_ Seb asked sleepily, startled by the sudden change in motion.

"_Don't you think it'sss a bit odd that what Hagrid wantsss more than anything elssse in the world isss a dragon, and a ssstranger turnsss up who jussst ssso happensss to have an egg in hisss pocket? How many people do you know who wander around with dragon eggsss—essspecially sssince it'sss againssst wizarding law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why the _hell_ didn't I sssee thisss before?"_

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.

"Hullo," he said, smiling, "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"Sure Hagrid," replied Harry, determined to keep this conversation as normal as possible. "I'd love one."

A few cups of tea and some pointless conversation about random creatures later, and Harry thought it was safe to bring up the topic he really wanted to ask.

"You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?" _Damn, not subtle enough…_but Hagrid didn't appear to notice.

"Dunno," said Hagrid casually, "'e wouldn't take his cloak off."

Harry stared at him in stunned disbelief—which Hagrid _did_ notice.

"It's not that unusual," he continued, raising his bushy eyebrows slightly, "Yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head—that's the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' 'e? I never saw his face, 'e kept his hood up."

"Well, as long as it's normal…what did you talk about? No one plays cards in silence, do they?"

Hagrid laughed.

"Yeah, we talked about what we did fer a livin', an' I told him I was gamekeeper 'ere…'e asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after...so I told him...an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon...an' then…I can't remember too well, 'cause 'e kept buyin' me drinks...

_Oh Merlin._

"Let's see...yeah, then 'e said 'e had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted...but 'e had ter be sure I could handle it, 'e didn' want it ter go ter any old home—understandably, darker folks do some awful things ter dragon eggs...so I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy..."

"_Sssanta María,"_ Sebastian breathed in a desperate prayer.

"And did he—did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Harry asked, keeping his voice perfectly even and calm, in no way letting the panic he was feeling filter in.

"Well—yeah—how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' 'e'll go straight off ter sleep—"

Harry cut him off before Hagrid could realize what he just said.

"So then, because he knew you could handle a Cerberus, he gave you the dragon egg?"

"Well yeah, though I had ter win it firs'. Wasn' that easy, but 'e wasn' that great at cards, so in the end I got it."

"And then Norbert hatched," Harry murmured ruefully, shoving the horror he felt at Hagrid's causal dropping of how to_ get past Fluffy_ to the back of his mind.

"Yeah, an' then," sniff, "We had to," sniff, "Send him away!"

Hagrid dissolved into bawling.

Harry rolled his eyes upward and sighed, patting Hagrid lightly on the shoulder and offering consoling words while his mind frantically tried to figure out what to do next.

_There's no way in hell I can do this alone. I'm a first year—granted, I know more spells than most of the kids my age, but still, I'm a _first _year. So I need to tell someone…and it can't be my Head of House because I still suspect him. Which means Dumbledore—I've got to go and talk to the Headmaster._

This decided, Harry worked to calm Hagrid down so he could leave and get on with saving the world from Voldemort. Five minutes later (thoroughly fed up with the man by now) and he cheated, casting a strong calming charm of Hagrid. It worked like a charm (and he was quite aware of the irony of that statement) and he left Hagrid reminiscing happily about Norbert playing with—read: eating—his teddy bear.

Harry hurried through the corridors, hashing out his plan with a now wide awake Sebastian. Hogwarts seemed to be trying to help him get there quicker, for he'd never had so many staircases align in the correct order before. He skidded to a halt outside of the stone gargoyle.

Figuring that this was as much of a part of Hogwarts as everything else, he decided to reason with it.

"Look," he explained, "I can stand here and guess passwords 'til kingdom come, but I really, _really_ need to see the Headmaster. It's urgent. I'd highly appreciate it if you'd let me in, or at least let him know that I'm here and need to speak with him."

The gargoyle seemed to consider Harry's words and—to his mild astonishment, though really, by this point he should no longer by surprised by this sort of thing—opened its mouth to answer, but a voice echoing down the corridor cut it off, and it quickly went back to its normal state.

"Mr. Potter, what on _Earth_ are you doing here?"

It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

Harry turned to her with trepidation, but then, she _was_ the Deputy Headmistress…perhaps she could let him in.

"I need to speak with the Headmaster," he said quietly, "It's very important."

"Speak with the Headmaster?" Professor McGonagall repeated, as though this was a very fishy thing to want to do. Harry couldn't understand why. "Whatever for?"

Harry swallowed. There was _no_ way he was telling her—only Dumbledore.

"Professor, please, I just need to speak with Dumbledore."

She didn't look amused.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she informed him coldly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once."

Harry felt the blood drain from his face.

"He's gone?" he whispered, horrified, frantic, "Now?"

"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Mr. Potter, he has many demands on his time—"

"But Professor, this is _really_ important."

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Mr. Potter?" Her tone was annoyed with a hint of mocking in it. Harry resented her for it, though in all honesty, it wasn't her fault. She had no idea about the severity of the situation.

"When will he be back?" he asked, a desperate tone creeping into his voice.

"I have no idea, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall exclaimed in exasperation, "Not until tomorrow, at the earliest. The trip from here to London is not the easiest one to make, and I doubt very much that the Headmaster would spend all day in a meeting only to turn around and come _right back_. If it is really that important, talk to Professor Snape. He's your _Head of House_, after all."

Telling to Professor Snape was an even worse idea than telling Professor McGonagall. At least he was fairly sure that _she_ wasn't after the stone.

"Professor, _please_," Harry hated the begging tone in his voice, but he was desperate. He sent a mental plea to Hogwarts to make sure no one could hear this conversation, and upon the confirmation that it would stay between the two of them, he continued. "It's about the Sorcerer's Stone—"

Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it wasn't that. The books she was carrying tumbled out of her arms but she didn't pick them up.

"How do you know—?" she spluttered.

"Professor, look, I know that _someone_ is going to try and steal it. The consequences of the Stone getting into this person's hands are drastic. I really, _really _need to talk to the Headmaster."

She eyed him with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she said finally, "I don't know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

Harry gaped at her, unable to believe his argument was being dismissed so easily.

"Professor—"

"Mr. Potter, I know what I'm talking about," she snapped shortly.

She bent down and gathered up the fallen books. "I suggest you go back outside and enjoy the sunshine. And if I catch you skulking _anywhere_ around the third corridor, I won't hesitate to take more points than your house could possibly win back—were it the start of the year and Quidditch season all over again."

Harry watched her stride away, his last hope in adults shattered to splinters. That was it—from now on he was relying on himself and the few he chose to ally with. He couldn't believe, simply couldn't believe it, that she would dismiss him as if he were making things up to get attention. It was—infuriating.

"Sorry," croaked a gravely voice from somewhere nearby. Harry jumped and spun around, his wand out and pointing towards the source of the voice.

"Nice reflexes," continued the stone gargoyle "Haven't seen those that good in a firstie since Severus Snape came through here, and Alastor Moody before him. Paranoid bastards, but their still alive, so I guess their instincts serve them well."

Harry blinked dazedly.

"I don't suppose _you _know how to reach the Headmaster?" he asked softly, his voice heavy with despair.

"Could owl him," the gargoyle suggested, "Of course, that'll take a while, the flight from here to London is a bit of a way, but—well—it's better than nothing."

"Thanks," Harry said politely, turning and heading down the corridor, his mind running frantically through his options.

"You're a smart kid, Potter," the gargoyle shouted after him, "Don't let the idiots who run this place get down on you!"

_Well, at least the castle believes in me…_

:~:

Harry decided to take the gargoyle's advice. It wouldn't hurt and in all the stories he read (muggle ones, but that didn't matter much), ignoring a magical creature's advice could prove to be fatal. And while Hogwarts' stone gargoyle might not be a _creature,_ per say, it was definitely magical.

With that in mind, he climbed up to the Owlery and composed a note to the Headmaster. It was difficult—for he couldn't outright say what was wrong, incase it got intercepted—but he was proud of the final product. It was the picture of confusing sentences and (if the reader could get through to them) obscure, very personal references. He was fairly sure that only Dumbledore knew what went on in Hogwarts well enough to understand what the letter said.

_Dear Headmaster,_

_Due to a series of nearly unrelated circumstances that have very little, whatsoever, to do with me, I have come across a hydra of sorts which exists within this acropolis. Being the erudite, omnipotent, person you are—as, I'm sure, is easy to discern from the fact that you, without a hint of doubt, apperceive _everything_ that passes within these walls—I've taken it upon my humble self to confabulate with you on this motif. I would highly appreciate your auxiliary in this existing corporeality in expeditiousness._

_Sincerely,_

_ Your Saint Stephen's Day guest._

Translation: Due to everything that has been happening at the school (like Halloween, Norbert, and the Forbidden Forest escapade), I've discovered that the Sorcerer's Stone is here. Naturally, you know this, and I believe your enchantments (which you probably know I know about) are not quite as effective as you'd like to believe. Basically, it's going to be stolen tonight. Come back as soon as possible. Harry Potter.

The '_everything_' was ironically emphasized to assure the Headmaster of the sender and as a warning: Dumbledore _didn't_ know how Harry got around Hogwarts half of the time, and he wouldn't have left had he known the Stone was going to be stolen.

Harry could only hope that it would be enough.

"Don't hurt yourself, Hedwig, but get this to the Headmaster as soon as possible," he told his owl, stroking her feathers gently, "Outsmart those Ministry wards and peck people to get in, if you have to."

Hedwig gave him an affectionate nip and swooped out of the tower, vanishing quickly from sight.

Harry gave a long sigh and descended the tower steps, plotting what to do next. Upon reaching the base of the stairs, he paused, his eyes darting in all directions. Nothing. _Odd, I could have sworn someone was watching me…_

He turned to go towards the dungeons and nearly had a heart-attack.

Professor Snape was standing there.

"Good afternoon," he murmured smoothly.

Harry knew, he _knew_, that there hadn't been anyone there when he looked. _Oh God…_

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," the potions master continued, with an odd, twisted smile.

"I'm—" It was probably a good thing that Snape cut him off, for Harry had _no_ idea what he was going to say.

"You want to be more careful," Snape said, the words rippling eerily through the air, "Hanging around like this, people will think you're…up to something. And Slytherin really can't afford to lose any more points, can we?"

Harry stared over his professor's shoulder, determined to _not_ meet his eyes. _Is he warning me to keep my nose in my own business (and thus he's going to steal the Stone) or is he telling me that he's got his eye on the threat, not to worry, and he'll protect it?_

"Good day," the professor strode off in the direction of the staff room.

Harry stared after him with wide eyes.

"_What do you think, Sssebassstian?"_ he asked when he regained the ability to speak, _"Isss he the one after the Ssstone, or isss he protecting it?"_

"_Or isss he a bloody vampire, appearing out of the ssshadowsss like that! Sssanta María, isss he trying to kill me?"_

"_Right, let'sss go back to the dorm. I need to sssee what I have that could help."_

:~:

It was after dinner that night that Harry realized the first major problem (other than the fact that Dumbledore _still_ hadn't returned).

"_Ssseb, you can't come with me."_

"_Oh no, amigo, there'sss no way I'm going to let you do thisss alone…"_ the snake trailed off into a yawn.

"_No Ssseb, you really can't. You jussst returned—near dead, I might add—lassst night; you're clearly exhausssted, you need ressst. You can't change form until you heal, and in your current ssstate, you wouldn't be able to get clossse enough to an enemy to inject it with your venom. Yesss, you'd be helpful with the enchantmentsss, but I'd have to protect you and I'll have a hard enough time protecting myssself. You _can't_ come."_

"_Amigo…"_

"_No Ssseb."_

It was with a heavy heart that he slipped out of the dorm a few hours later. Sebastian was asleep on his pillow—he'd have preferred to leave his snake in his trunk, but he couldn't risk the fact that he might not come back, and then Seb would be locked in there.

He crept through the dark, silent castle under his invisibility cloak. His pocket contained his other two Christmas presents: the wooden flute Hagrid had given him (irony again, giving him something to use to get past Fluffy) and the jam jar with the bluebell flames from Granger, which would be useful for a light (so he would have his wand free) if nothing else.

He exited the secret passage nearest to the third corridor and began to climb the stairs. It was at the top that he ran into some trouble.

Peeves was floating through the stairwell and seemed to sense him.

"Who's there?" the poltergeist called suddenly as Harry climbed towards him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you a ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?"

He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at Harry. "Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen."

Harry had a sudden idea.

"Peeves," he said, in a hoarse whisper, "The Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible."

Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs.

"So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir," he said greasily, "My mistake, my mistake—I didn't see you—of course I didn't, you're invisible—forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."

"I have business here, Peeves," croaked Harry, "Stay away from this place tonight."

"I will, sir, I most certainly will," cried Peeves, rising up in the air again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you."

He scooted off.

Harry congratulated himself and a few seconds later, he was outside Fluffy's door—which was ajar.

Harry pushed the door the rest of the way open. As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met his ears. All three of the Cerberus's noses sniffed madly in his direction, even though it couldn't see him. A harp rested at Fluffy's feet.

_Damn, well that doesn't narrow the answer down—I can't believe that _either_ Professor Snape or Quirrell play the harp—hope I'm not contending with a third party._

Slipping out of the cloak and stuffing it into his pocket, Harry put Hagrid's flute to his lips and blew, moving his fingers over the holes and producing what vaguely resembled a tune. For his first music performance ever, it wasn't that bad.

At the first notes, the Cerberus's eyes began to droop. Harry hardly dared to move and continued playing. Slowly, the Cerberus's growls ceased—it tottered on its paws and fell on its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

_Thank God, I'm not sure what I would have done if that hadn't worked._

He could feel the Cerberus's hot, smelly breath as he approached the giant heads, passing quickly to get to the trapdoor. It was then that he realized the problematic mechanics of the situation.

He couldn't stop playing the flute or the Cerberus would wake up, and if he kept playing, he couldn't lift the trapdoor. _Shit._

He ran his options through his mind.

_What I really need is a spell that plays music, but we haven't learned any yet, that's advanced charms—wait…the Christmas music Professor Flitwick charmed in the Great Hall over the winter holidays…I think I can do that._

Quickly, he retreated back to the door and stuffed the flute in his pocket. The Cerberus woke up, sniffing around and growling. Harry could pinpoint the exact moment Fluffy saw him—fortunately, nothing drastic happened, as right then the music spell went into effect.

_I suppose the Founders' book was right in this instance,_ he though in awe as the Cerberus slumped back into sleep to the notes of 'Greensleeves', _The more you want a spell to work, the more likely you are to succeed. I knew those Christmas spells would come in useful one day._

Cerberus now subdued, he crept over to the trapdoor once more. He pulled on the ring and the door swung up and open.

A drop of an unknown depth plunged at his feet. It was pitch black and had no noticeable way to get down. Which meant he would have to jump and free fall. _Lovely._

Gingerly, he lowered himself into the hole until he was hanging by his fingertips. Then, with a prayer and a couple of curses, he let go.

Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down, down and—FLUMP.

With a funny sort of thump he landed on something soft. He sat up and felt around, his eyes not used to the gloom. It felt as though he was sitting on some sort of plant.

Looking back up, he noted that the trapdoor created a postage stamp square of light far, far above. He sighed. Right, now what should he do—

Something moved against his leg. He fought the urge to scream and instead sat perfectly still, frantically trying to figure out what it was. Something twined around his ankle and began creeping upward, capturing his legs and binding them tight.

_Oh shit._ He knew what this plant was—Devil's Snare.

_Ok, what do I know about it…I studied enough Herbology,_ he thought desperately, keeping his hands free from the creeping vines, even as the plant bound his waist, _It likes the dark and damp, so…I need fire—the bluebell flames…_

He tore the jam jar out of his pocket, twisted the lid off, and released the flames onto the green tendrils and thicker vines.

In a matter of seconds, Harry felt the plant loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unraveled itself from his body and he was able to pull free.

He lunged for the safety of the nearby stone passage (now visible due to the light), scooping the flames back into the jar as he went. Once completely out of the range of the writhing vines, he allowed himself to sink against the cold, damp wall and just breathe.

This 'protect the Stone' quest was wrecking havoc on his nerves.

After taking a moment to pull himself together, he stood up again and continued down the passage.

All he could hear apart from his footsteps was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downwards and Harry was reminded of Gringotts and the deeper dungeons of the castle.

He idly wondered if the goblins helped create Hogwarts.

A soft rushing and clinking sound captured his attention; it seemed to be coming from up ahead.

It sounded like wings.

Harry reached the end of the passageway and saw before him a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above him. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy, wooden door.

_Hmm, that's odd…what are they for? Do they attack anyone who tries to cross the chamber? Well, let's see…_

He took a deep breath, covered his face with his arms and sprinted across the room. He expected to feel sharp beaks and claws tearing at him any second, but nothing happened. He reached the door untouched and attempted to open it—nothing. It wouldn't budge, even when he tried a series of unlocking charms.

_Now what?_

He turned his attention back to the birds soaring overhead, glittering—glittering?

_They're not birds! _He realized with a jolt, _They're keys! Winged keys…so one of them must unlock the door…but how to catch them?_

He looked around the chamber. There, resting on the floor near the far wall, were four broomsticks.

Harry turned back to the door and examined the lock again.

_It'll probably be a_ _big, old-fashioned key—silver, like the metal work on the door._

He walked back across the room to the broomsticks. They were a bit better quality than the school ones they'd used in that disastrous first lesson: twigs neat, handles polished.

Harry stood beside one and put his hand out over the broom.

"_UP,_" he intoned firmly, remembering Madam Hooch's lesson. The broom leapt to his hand as if it belonged there.

As he swung his leg over the broom, he felt his heart rise a bit despite the severity of the situation.

He kicked off the ground firmly and _soared_ into the air, resisting the urge to let out a whoop and simply reveling in the sensation.

_I've always wanted to fly._

After wasting a few moments learning how to handle the broom, make sharp turns, dive, etc, Harry launched himself into the midst of the cloud of keys. He grabbed and snatched but the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch one.

Not for nothing, though, was Harry still alive despite a wizarding world which seemed determined to take him out. He had a knack for spotting things other people didn't.

After a minute's weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, he noticed a large silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole.

_That one!_ He thought to himself gleefully, _The big one—there—with bright blue wings—the feathers are all crumpled on one side._

Almost as if the key sensed it was going to be chased, it began to dart about the room, moving in frantic unpredictable jerks, fluttering left, then right, up, then down.

Harry tailed it with astonishing skill—especially considering it was his first time on a broom. He felt the air whip past his face, his stomach doing odd things due to the continual lurches and gravity-defying stunts he put the broom through, and all the while, his eyes never left the darting silver key.

He was having the time of his life.

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the key tuck its wings close to its body and—from the highest point in the ceiling—dive strait for the ground. Harry, without a moment's hesitation, dove after it.

He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down—next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the key—air whistled in his ears—he stretched out his hand—a foot from the ground he snagged it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he hovered barley above the ground, key clenched tightly in his fist, wings beating feebly.

_Wow,_ he gazed at the key for a long moment, temporarily forgetting about the Stone, the dangers ahead, and Voldemort, _This, _this_ is magic. That was…indescribable. I _definitely_ want to do that again._

Shaking himself out of his daze, he dismounted from the broom—which went zipping across the room to join the others—and ran to the door, the key struggling in his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned—it worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice.

Harry took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The next chamber was so dark that he couldn't see anything at all. But as he stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight. He was standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than him and carved from some sort of black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces. Harry shivered slightly—the towering chessmen had no faces.

_Ok, now what?_

He decided that first thing was first: just because it _looked_ as though he'd have to play his way across the room didn't mean that it was necessary. It was a rather brilliant idea, really—have the intruder waste precious minutes playing his/her/its way across the room when in reality, all they'd have to do was just walk…

This theory was shot to pieces when Harry, having reached the center of the 'board', put his toe over the middle line.

Instantly, the white chess pieces started to advance on him, weapons drawn. He quickly retracted his foot, and they halted, returning to their former positions. Well, it looked as though he'd have to play his way across after all.

There was only one problem—Harry didn't know how to play chess. Oh, he'd read the basics in a book somewhere; he knew the pieces and what positions they could move in, but he'd never played a game in his life…mainly because he never had anyone to play with.

_Well, this is going to be interesting._

He retreated to his side of the board, considering the situation. He _could_ try to play his way across…but odd were he'd lose (and Merlin only knew what would happen then).

Really, though, what other options were there? It was a chess game—clearly set up to be a chess game—complete with animated chessmen who (seeing how this was set up by wizards) probably played the wizarding version of chess. His side would follow orders and the other side would react accordingly. Cause and effect. There was _nothing _he could do. He didn't stand a chan—

Harry was struck by an idea. It was outrageous, ludicrous, wild, insane, but if it worked…

_They'll follow orders if they're anything like any wizard's chess set I've ever seen,_ he thought, seizing upon the idea, _The question is, will they follow _any_ orders?_

He walked briskly over to the black king and queen, who turned to observe him.

"Excuse me," he murmured very, very quietly, so much so that the two royalty had to bend down to hear him, "But will this side follow my orders? Is that how this works?"

They nodded. Harry considered his plan for a few seconds longer, trying to decide if he _really_ wanted to do this—hell, it was the best option.

He shot a sly look at the two royalty.

"How would you like to play a very…_unconventional_ game?" he asked near silently. The king and queen turned to each other and seemed to communicate on some level, before turning back to him. It was clear, despite the lack of facial features, that they were both asking "how".

"Well," he continued, "I need to get to the far door."

They nodded.

"And," he re-established, "I have to get past the white pieces to get there."

Another nod.

"Are there any rules—magic or otherwise—that say I have to play _chess_ to get across? Or does everyone just assume that you have to play the game."

The king's posture showed he was startled, but the queen…if she had facial features, she'd be smirking. Harry pressed in for the finish.

"How would you like to simply charge across the board and _decimate_ the other side?"

The two royalty spent another moment communicating, and then they nodded again. Now, if they could have, Harry knew they would _both_ be smirking.

The queen turned and pointed a finger at Harry.

"Me? I'm going to hitch a ride with one of the knights—whose sole purpose will be to get me across the battlefield unharmed."

The queen shooed him away and then turned and seemed to silently address her pieces, all of whom began to quiver with excitement. Harry hurried over to his chosen knight and quickly explained the situation. At the knight's nod, he hopped up on the back of the horse and clung to the piece's stone waist, waiting breathlessly for the drama to begin. It wasn't going to be pretty, and he hoped like hell that his knight took his orders seriously and made sure he got across without injury.

The white pieces seemed to sense that something unusual was happening on the other side of the board. But whatever they were expecting, it wasn't this.

The black queen raised her scepter and brought it down in a sweeping ark.

As if it were the sound of a trumpet, the black pieces took this gesture as an order to charge. And charge they did—straight across the board into the disbelieving white chessmen.

The two 'armies' met with the smash and crunch of stone. The white queen only hesitated slightly—probably still in shock—before with a rallying her own pieces and sending them to fight furiously back.

It was awe inspiring.

Harry's knight stuck true to his mission, taking Harry along the side lines and using his body to shield the boy from flying chunks and splinters of stone. He delivered Harry on the other side of the chess board in front of the door with ease, as the two armies were too involved in destroying each other to remember that they were supposed to stop the intruder. With a sharp salute, the knight wheeled his rearing horse around and charged back into the battle to defend his king and queen.

Harry paused momentarily before opening the door. The two armies made no vocal noises, but the smash, grind, and squeal of stone echoed throughout the chamber, creating a positive maelstrom of sound, rising in a cacophony to the ceiling and beyond. It was a wonder they didn't wake the whole school.

_Then again,_ Harry thought quickly as he turned back to the door, _That might not be such a bad idea…I might get some help after all._

Harry pushed the door open.

A disgusting smell filled his nostrils, of old socks and the kind of public toilet that no one seems to clean. It was a familiar smell—one which he doubted he'd ever forget.

With dawning realization, Harry turned and stared, mouth open in horror, as an enormous troll (at least twice as big as the one he faced on Halloween) charged at him from the opposite side of the chamber.

_Oh SHIT!_

He didn't have time to think, only react, and that was exactly what he did.

As the troll came barreling down on him, both hands clasping a raised club over its head, Harry ducked as low to the floor as he possibly could and darted between the troll's legs. The troll, unable to stop its momentum, continued forward through the still-open door and directly into the center of the fighting chess pieces, wrecking unimaginable havoc.

Without a second thought, they included it into the fray, both sides attacking the troll while still battering each other.

The troll howled with rage and pain, smashing chessmen with his club and getting severely injured with their sharp, stone swords. It completely forgot about the tiny human in the other room and focused entirely on this new, far more lethal, opponent.

Harry, after gaping in shock for a long moment, turned away from the hysteria and closed the door to the troll's chamber behind him (there was no need to give the combatants another chance to get near him).

He continued across the chamber, a smug smirk twitching at his lips, rather proud of the absolute _chaos_ he'd created simply by convincing chessmen to abandon their silly rules and then ducking at the opportune moment.

He pulled open the next door, a bit more cautious about what was up ahead after having a troll charge full tilt at him—but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

_Professor Snape's,_ he thought, _I wonder what I have to do?_

He stepped over the threshold and immediately a fire sprang up behind him in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onwards.

_I should have known that nothing to do with that man would be simple,_ Harry groaned mentally, _He likes playing mind games _way_ too much. Oh well, at least the armies in the other room won't be able to get in…I hope._

He walked over and examined the table with the potions. A piece of parchment lay in the center, which read:

_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,  
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,  
One among us seven will let you move ahead,  
Another will transport the drinker back instead,  
Two of our number hold only nettled wine,  
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.  
Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,  
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:  
First, however slyly the poison tried to hide  
You will always find some on nettles wine's left side;  
Second, different are those who stand at either end,  
But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;  
Third, as you see clearly, are all different size,  
Neither dwarf or giant holds death in their insides;  
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right  
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

_Well, well, well,_ Harry thought, amused, _Who would have thought that our potions master was a poet? Though, by his start of year speech, I really should have gotten some idea._

A logic puzzle. _Brilliant_. And it really was. A lot of the greatest wizards hadn't an ounce of logic—they'd be stuck in here forever. And how frustrating, to the great, powerful wizards, when they weren't beaten by an enchantment, but a simple _puzzle_. Oh yes, his Head of House had a great sense of irony.

_Everything I need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get me safely through the black fire and one will get me back through the purple._

_Let's work through this one step at a time…_

_There are seven bottles: I'll call them one through seven, starting on the left. _

_Four clues. _

_One__: Nettle wine always has a poison on its left…which means the poisons can't all be together, or it wouldn't fit the requirement._

_Two__: Neither end will let me move forward…that means potions one and seven aren't useful to me._

_Three__: Neither the biggest nor the smallest is a poison…so that tiny bottle in the center isn't a poison, nor is that large one._

_Four__: The second one in on both sides tastes the same…so it's the same potion?_

_Hmm…one and seven are different potions, according to the riddle. _

_One can't be nettle wine, because there are no potions to its left. It won't help me 'go on' either…so it's a poison or the one going back. _

_Two and six are possibly the same potion…that means they're nettle wine, for there are two of them…of course, they could be poison, but…_

_If two and six are the wines, then one _must_ be a poison, and there are two poisons in the numbers three through five, as they're the only numbers left of six. _

_Which means the potion to go forward is in-between three and five, or it's seven. _

_And we already established that it can't be seven, due to the clue. _

_So…seven is the potion going back…_

_And the small vial in the middle is the potion going forward, because "Neither dwarf nor giant holds death", and it's the smallest bottle._

Harry felt a glow of accomplishment. He _loved_ logic puzzles, and while this one wasn't too difficult, it still caused him some satisfaction at having solved it. He idly wondered how long it had taken his Head of House to create this riddle.

He rather hoped that it wasn't Professor Snape he'd find on the other side of the door. Quirrell—well, if the DADA teacher made it this far, than he'd greatly underestimated the man—he liked to think he could at least distract the defense professor for a bit, but Snape? Harry _knew_ didn't stand a chance.

He took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. He turned to face the black flames.

_Here I come,_ he thought and he drained the little bottle in one gulp.

It was as though ice was flooding his body. He put the bottle down and walked forward; he braced himself, saw the black flamed licking his body, but couldn't feel them—for a moment he could see nothing but dark fire—then he was on the other side, in the last chamber. As Harry suspected, there was already someone there.

It was Quirrell.

Harry gave the faintest sigh of relief.

The man had been standing with his back to him, but upon Harry's entry, he turned to face the door.

"Potter?" he exclaimed, startled.

Harry noticed he wasn't stuttering at all, and his normal twitching lips were perfectly straight. He didn't dignify an answer, simply observing the man.

"What are you doing here?" Quirrell demanded.

"I could ask you the same thing," Harry said quietly, remaining in the shadows by the door. He didn't want to elude to the Stone until Quirrell mentioned it—there was no reason to give out information—but he knew he had to keep the DADA Professor talking, distract him from his goal. He looked around the room.

It was fairly empty, circular, with a series of stairs descending into a bowl-like floor. In the very center stood the Mirror of Erised.

_Oh boy…_

"Tell me, Potter, you weren't expecting to find me down here, were you?"

Honestly, the pure arrogance the man managed to emanate was astounding. The professor wasn't acting like he normally did…at all. _I wonder what Voldemort has to do with all of this…_

"Well, it was either you or Professor Snape," Harry admitted, more to keep the man talking and distracted than anything else.

Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

_Well, I did, but clearly you didn't hear the first part of my reply._

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry.

_Shit. _Why_ don't I pay more attention to what is going on? This isn't going to improve matters._

Very cautiously, he began to wiggle his right hand towards his pocket.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school at Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

_I did._

"_You_ let the troll in?" Somehow, Harry hadn't made that connection. He wasn't quite sure why—possibly because of the DADA Professor's reaction to the troll on Halloween—but he'd dismissed the troll incident as 'unrelated' to this Stone fiasco. A lucky distraction. _Clearly, I need to be more suspicious._

"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls. Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off—" _Ahh, so that's what he was doing up there, _"And not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly."

"So you deliberately set the troll out with the intention of killing me?" It would make for a very curious idea. Yes, the troll had been rumored to be in the dungeons—where Harry lived—but Harry hadn't been there at the time. It was by pure coincidence that he came across the troll at all…and even then, it would have been fairly easy to sneak past. Either the troll had some way of following him, or…

_Or Quirrell is not quite sane and willing to just assume that it would find me…I wonder why…I might be able to use this to my advantage._

"Wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

Interesting? Oh yes, the Mirror was _very_ interesting. And dangerous.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame, "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this...but he's in London...I'll be far away by the time he gets back..."

_Right, not if I can help it, I bet that 'urgent letter' was a fake…is the Stone _in _the mirror? But how do you get it out? What keeps it in there? I need to stop him from concentrating on it._

"I saw you and Snape in the corridor, that one time—" he blurted out. Well, he made it seem like he blurted it out. In reality, it was a very carefully planned move. He wasn't in Slytherin for nothing.

"Yes," replied Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back, not really paying attention. _Damn, oh well, maybe he'll spill something interesting when he's like this._ "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me—as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side..."

_So Voldemort really _is_ involved in this mess…and Quirrell is somehow helping him…that clears up that issue. _

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.

"I see the Stone...I'm presenting it to my master...but where is it?"

_Clearly not in your possession, or I'd be dead already. Honestly, leaving me alive is just giving me a chance to escape and screw up your plan…not that I'm complaining._

_**Hogwarts?**_ he called out mentally, though he made sure to be as quiet as possible. He wasn't willing to risk that Quirrell was a mind-reader, and therefore could pick up his conversation.

The castle sent a sharp jolt of worry at him.

_**Is Dumbledore back yet?**_

_*__**No.**__*_

_**Alright, I'm going to do my best to distract Quirrell…keep an eye on me, ok? And send the Headmaster the **_**instant**_** he gets back.**_

_*__**Will do**__*_

Harry twisted against the ropes binding him. He didn't struggle harshly—that would only make these particular knots grow tighter—but he slowly wormed his right hand to his pocket. Equally slowly, he drew his three-inch blade pocket knife out and, barely daring to breathe, set to work on the ropes behind his back…which Quirrell couldn't see if he happened to turn around.

Meanwhile, he _had_ to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror and possibly figuring out the key…whatever it was. He decided to re-focus the conversation on his other former suspicion, as Quirrell seemed to have it out for the man.

"But Professor Snape always seemed to hate me so much…"

Not true, the potions master was more than willing to ignore him—except for when Snape gave him odd glances that hinted he knew more about Harry's home life than Harry wanted him to.

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, "Heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other." Well, _that_ explained the first potions class, "But he never wanted you _dead_."

"I heard you a few days ago, sobbing—"

_Great, just great, he isn't going to fall for that. Why do I keep on spitting out random things?_

To his astonishment, Quirrell took the bait, and for the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across his face.

"Sometimes," he murmured, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions—he is a great wizard and I am weak—"

_Wait…but Quirrell was the only one in that classroom—and he was talking as if in conversation…_

"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?" Harry gasped in faked emotion. Better to let Quirrell believe he was like every other first year…it'd make the professor underestimate him, and perhaps he'd live longer. Plus, he was bound to get more information this way.

"He is with me wherever I go," replied Quirrell quietly. _Now that's interesting._ "I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it...Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me."

_Wow, that was a whole lot more information that I expected—even at the most optimistic. What is it with 'bad guys' and the desperate need to pour out life stories at the climax of the plot? And _why_ is my real life mimicking this?_

Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me...decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me…"

_So…this would leave me to believe he is here right now—only…where?_

Quirrell's voice trailed away, then he cursed under his breath.

"I don't understand...is the Stone _inside_ the mirror? Should I break it?"

_Dear Merlin, what good would _that_ do? It's an _enchanted_ mirror. I highly doubt that the Stone will just _fall out_ when you 'break' it._

Through diligent rubbing of the blade on the ropes—while talking to Quirrell—Harry had managed to cut through the thickest of the knots. Now, hands free, he slipped the knife back into his pocket and set his fingers to work on quickly untying the rest.

Upon finishing this task, he looked up at the DADA Professor again.

Quirrell was still ignoring him and talking to himself.

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

_Oh no, here it comes._

However, unlike what Harry imagined, Voldemort didn't step out of the shadows. He didn't swoop down, in ghost form, from the ceiling. No, what happened was much worse.

A voice answered Quirrell, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the boy...use the boy…"

Quirrell rounded on Harry, only to freeze and gape upon seeing Harry standing free with a pile of ropes at his feet.

"Wha—Potter—how—" he spluttered, before seeming to come back to himself. "Never mind! It doesn't matter that you managed to use a slicing spell to get yourself free…after you have served your purpose, you'll die soon enough. Come here."

Harry followed his order for the moment. The man _was _the DADA teacher, and if what he'd said had been true, then he had almost successfully robbed a Gringotts vault. It was best to treat him with caution, and not give him an excuse to use some spell to make Harry do what he said. _And besides, at least he doesn't know about my knife._

"Come here," Quirrell repeated, "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Harry walked toward him, his mind momentarily blanking, and not because of his nearness to the man. He had the urge to just stare into the Mirror, and an equally great urge to run as far away from it as he could, so it couldn't tempt him.

Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. _Hmm…will have to consider this later._

He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the Mirror, and opened them again. He saw his reflection, the images of his parents standing just behind him, a hand on either shoulder. They smiled at him, and Harry swallowed.

_Pay attention,_ he told himself sternly, _You have a very big task to do…don't get sidetracked on missing that which you can't have!_

His parents' images seemed to understand his thoughts, for their carefree expressions saddened. He saw his father's reflection reach an arm out of the mirror's frame while his mother's carded her fingers through his hair. A moment later, his father retracted his arm, a blood-red stone held lightly in his fist. He smiled gently at Harry, pride in his face; then he winked, reached down, and placed the Stone in Harry's pocket—and as he did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket.

Somehow—incredibly—_he'd got the Stone._

_You idiots, _he thought in annoyance at his parents' reflections and the Mirror, _Why did you give it to me? At least when you had it, you could keep it away from him! He can just take it right from me…now!_

His father's reflection chuckled a bit and mouthed 'use it well', and his mother's kissed his refection's forehead.

"Well?" snapped Quirrell impatiently, "What do you see?"

Harry fought back a smirk. He could handle this. Survival rule number who-knows-what:

_The best lies are those that have the most truth in them._

"I-I see m-my parents—" he stammered, not needing to project the emotion into his voice. He was quite aware of the fact that this was probably the last time he'd ever see them, "They're—they're—" he choked off.

Quirrell cursed.

"Get out of the way," he spat. As Harry moved aside he felt the Sorcerer's Stone against his leg. _Now what? And how to keep Quirrell, or more importantly, Voldemort—wherever…_whatever_…he is—away from it?_

"He hides…he hides..."

That high, hoarse voice echoed around the chamber again.

_I _knew_ there was a mind-reader in here._

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted, "Tell the truth! What did you just see?"

The high voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to him...face to face…"

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough...for this…"

Harry felt a deep sense of foreboding and a rising level of terror—such as he hadn't felt since he saw the unicorn-stalker in the Forest. Whatever was going to happen next would _not_ be good at all. He wished Sebastian were here.

Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. _What's going on? Oh dear Merlin…Voldemort isn't really…_

The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot. Harry would have screamed, but he couldn't make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Harry Potter…" it whispered.

Harry was deathly pale with shock and horror. He hadn't expected this. Not in his worst nightmares had he expected this. And worst of all, he recognized those eyes.

Red eyes, bone-white wand, high cold laugh, and brilliant green light had made up his nightmares for as long as he could remember. _Oh my God…_

He tried to take a step backwards, but his legs wouldn't move.

"See what I have become?" the face hissed, "Mere shadow and vapor...I have form only when I can share another's body…but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds…Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks…you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the Forest, after he went to all that work to switch your detention…and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own…Now…why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

So he knew. Oh _Merlin._ This wasn't going to end well. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs and he stumbled backwards.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face, "Better save your own life and join me...or you'll meet the same end as you parents...they died begging me for mercy..."

No, they hadn't. Harry refused to say a word about it to anyone, but ever since he'd read about that Halloween night, he'd had vague flickering memories of his parents' deaths. His mother had begged Voldemort not to kill her _baby_—him_,_ sparing no thought for herself.

"_Liar!_" he hissed—the word barely making it out in English—furious unlike any other time in his life. If there was one thing he could hold on to, it was the memory of his parents' death, how they died for him…and this _person_ was trying to desecrate that.

Quirrell was walking backwards at him, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling.

"How touching..." it hissed, "I always value bravery...Yes, boy, you're parents were brave...I killed your father first, and he put up a courageous fight...but your mother needn't have died...she was trying to protect you…Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."

The bastard. The absolute bastard. Harry couldn't believe he said that.

_If only for my parents' memories, I will _never_ let you have the Stone._

And suddenly, he was calm—perfectly calm. He knew _exactly_ what he needed to do.

"No," he stated quietly, clearly.

Voldemort's face twisted in fury.

"SEIZE HIM!" the parasitic head shrieked and Quirrell whirled around and darted for him. Harry was faster.

_**HOGWARTS!**_ he screamed mentally, his hand whipping into his pocket, snatching the Stone, and jerking back out, _**Protect it, hide it, DON'T LET HIM GET IT!**_

He flung the Stone, as hard as he could, at the wall of the chamber.

Hogwarts…_shivered._ The Stone hit the wall, sinking in as if the masonry were made of wet mud, and vanishing from sight.

Upon absorbing the Stone, the entire castle _hummed—_magic roaring through its foundations, sweeping along corridors, up towers, enveloping dungeons, ransacking classrooms. Ghosts were tossed about in the air like ships upon gale-blown seas; students woke up shaking, unknowing as to the cause, only frightened; teachers leapt from their beds, racing out into the corridors, ordering the portraits to lock the common rooms, attempting to find the Headmaster; paintings flowed between portraits faster than ever before, conversing frantically.

Harry was oblivious to all the commotion. The second after he'd thrown the Stone, Quirrell's hand closed on his wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry's scar—it split open, blood trickling down his face.

He screamed, struggling with all his might to break free, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The agony in his head lessened marginally—though not much—and he looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone. His eyes lighted on the DADA Professor, hunched over in pain, looking at his fingers—they were blistering before his eyes.

_It hurts me to touch him…it hurts him to touch me._

Harry yanked the knife out of his pocket and flipped open the long blade; his wand was still on the other side of the chamber by the door, where it had fallen when he was tied with the ropes.

"Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" shrieked Voldemort again and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet, landing on top of him, both hands wrapped around Harry's neck. Harry's scar was burning like acid had been pored on it, sending spikes of agony lancing into his head. Somehow, he managed retain enough coherence to drive his knife deep into the inside of Quirrell's thigh, jerking it sharply down and then back out. With any luck, it hit the artery.

Quirrell howled with agony, staggering up and backward, staring at his hands. He seemed oblivious to the blood pouring in torrents down his leg.

"Master, I cannot hold him—my hands—my hands!" he croaked; they were burnt: raw, red and shiny.

Harry scrambled backward frantically, trying to reach his wand. If only he could…

"Then _kill him_, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell turned around to him once more and saw Harry's attempt to get across the room. He charged, wand raised, a deadly curse on his lips, one hand out to grab him.

Harry reacted on instinct. His arm jerked in the direction of his wand as if it had a will of its own and he wished—desperately—that it was in his hand.

The wand flew across the chamber, handle smacking lightly into his palm.

Quirrell froze, jaw dropping open at this display of wandless, wordless magic. Harry didn't give him a moment to recover.

"_Incendio_" he croaked, aiming for Quirrell's out-stretched arm.

The DADA Professor's sleeve caught fire. It shook him out of his daze and he snarled, continuing towards Harry without bothering to put the flame out.

_Oh God._

Harry mind whirled as he tried to figure out what to do next. He knew some jinxes—mostly because they had been used on him—a few curses, but nothing to stop a _DADA_ Professor possessed by _Voldemort_.

_It hurts me to touch him…it hurts him to touch me. Only—I think it hurts him more. My scar bleeds, but his skin _burns_._

And there it was…the only weapon left in his arsenal.

Harry dropped both his knife and his wand, raised his hands over his head, and—as Quirrell bent over him, wand pointed at his heart—plastered his palms to Quirrell's face.

"AAAARGH!"

Quirrell reeled backward, screaming, his face now blistering too.

_Got to keep him in enough pain that he can't cast spells_, Harry thought, gasping, _Just hope it's not enough to cause _me_ to black out._

Harry staggered to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm—sleeve burnt off by the fire spell—and hung on as tight as he could, making as much skin to skin contact as possible. His head _split_ open, blood gushing down and covering one eye, mind screaming and screaming in agony.

But Quirrell was screaming too, and trying to throw Harry off, and that's what allowed Harry to hang on. _For Mum and Dad, _he thought, focusing all his thoughts on the only two people he _knew_ cared for him, _I'll stay conscious for them._

Quirrell shrieks, terrible shrieks, and Voldemort yells of "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" echoed around the chamber. Harry was distantly aware of Hogwarts _screaming_ in the back of his mind, horror and worry flooding what senses he had left that were not enveloped by agony.

He refused to let go, not when consciousness began to leave, not when his vision spotted out into blackness, not even when he felt Hogwarts' magic rush into his body…he still hung on, because there was nothing else he could do, because he _had_ to stop Voldemort from taking over, because he was hanging on for his parents…

He fell into blackness, down…down…down…

:~:

…Something fluttered above him, gold and glittering. One of the enchanted keys. Harry wanted to reach out and grab it, but his arms were too heavy.

He blinked. The key turned into a pair of glasses. _How…odd…_

He blinked again. The deeply concerned face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.

_Wait…_above_ him? _Harry fought the instinct to jerk back.

"Thank _Merlin_," the Headmaster breathed in apparent relief, "My dear boy…" he trailed off as if he didn't know what to say. Harry blinked up at him dazedly. His head was throbbing, what parts of his body weren't numb _ached_ with pain—though it was the numbness that bothered him more: numbness was _not_ good.

"Headma—" he managed to gasp faintly, wondering _what_ had happened. Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, but his words were lost in the dull roar which echoed through Harry's head, courtesy of Hogwarts.

A flood of emotion filled his mind: worry, horror, grief, a severe scolding, relief, joy…accompanied by a barrage of words that overlapped one another so much and so fast that Harry couldn't interpret them.

He felt the sudden onslaught of a fierce headache and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Distantly, he was aware of the Headmaster worriedly calling "Harry?".

_**Hogwarts, please, shut**_** up**_**!**_

The surge of emotions abruptly stopped. Harry let out a faint sigh of relief before he could think to disguise it.

_*__**Sorry**__*_ the castle murmured dejectedly, slightly ashamed.

_**S'ok, fine now, not your fault**_, Harry reassured drowsily. Hogwarts enveloped his mind in a warm hug, and Harry dared to open his eyes again.

"Sorry," he croaked to the Headmaster, whose arm reached out of sight and returned with a glass of water, which he helped Harry drink.

"It's quite alright, my boy," Dumbledore said softly, as if sensing Harry's need for quiet, "Hogwarts is easily excitable and it's been very, _very _worried about you. We all have," he added, even more softly, almost to himself.

Harry didn't bother to ask how the Headmaster knew he could talk to Hogwarts. In retrospect, it was rather obvious—after all, he'd _asked_ the castle to tell the Headmaster to come to him in the chamber, of course Dumbledore would know then.

He turned his eyes away from the Headmaster's face and glanced around the room he was in for the first time—wishing almost immediately that he hadn't. Bright, blinding, _white_: the ceiling, the floor, the walls, the curtains, the covers and sheets on the beds…his headache returned full force and his eyes darted, seeking refuge on something not so dazzling. They eventually settled on his Head of House—clothed, as always, in complete black: oh, that nice, dark, _non-reflective_ color—sitting by the side of his bed.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Mr. Potter," the potions master murmured deeply, so quiet that it was hard to hear.

At least he knew where he was now. Lots of beds, the blinding whiteness, the implication that he'd nearly died—yes: this, then, was the hospital wing.

Though really, he didn't remember much after grabbing onto Quirrell's arm. And he hadn't thought that _that_ would kill him…sure, it hurt like hell, but to nearly die from _pain_? Perhaps the Headmaster could clarify.

"What happened?" he asked blankly.

"_That—_" Professor Snape began, in a much aggravated voice, "Is a _spectacular_ question. _What on Earth_ were you thinking? Why didn't you tell someone—_anyone_? Do you have _any_ idea—"

"_Severus_," Dumbledore intoned gently, his voice mildly amused, but it shut the potions master up. He settled for scowling at Harry instead, arms crossed over his chest.

"Though, really, my boy, I must ask why you didn't at least tell a professor," the Headmaster continued, slightly reproachful, to Harry.

"Did tell," Harry muttered almost under his breath, a bit rebellious. Honestly, he'd done his best, considering the situation, "Professor McGonagall didn't believe me."

The Headmaster and potions professor froze briefly, as though this statement threw them somewhat off course.

"You told Professor McGonagall?" Dumbledore asked at last.

"Mhmm. Was going to tell you, but you weren't there. Told her and she said the Stone was well protected…didn't need to worry."

"Yet you didn't believe her," Professor Snape stated.

"Obviously," for the sake of grace, why were they asking him so many questions? He'd just woken up, he was in a great deal of pain, his head hurt…he wished Sebastian were here.

_*__**Soon**__*_ Hogwarts told him.

_**Wait…what?**_

The castle sent him an image of one very determined snake slowly slithering his way through the corridors and secret passages in the direction of the hospital wing. Harry heaved a mental sigh.

_On second thought, that might not be such a good idea after all…how am I going to explain his presence to them?_

"I'm sorry, my boy," the Headmaster interrupted his thoughts, "But you've been unconscious for three days, and during that time we've had to focus all of our energy on keeping you alive—we haven't managed to clarify a description of the events which took place until now."

"Hmm," Harry hummed, uncommunicatively. In the back of his mind, he knew that he was being unhelpful and grouchy—but damn it! He'd just woken up, hurt like Hell, and couldn't think strait. He had a _right_ to be 'out of it', so to speak.

Though he'd have to be careful of what he told them. No need to give out excess information simply because he couldn't pay attention to what he was saying.

The Headmaster seemed to understand his current state of mind and, after exchanging another glance with Harry's Head of House, he gave a small sigh.

"How about this," he said softly, "I'll run through the series of events which I managed to piece together from the time when I received your letter to my finding you in the Gauntlet. Feel free to add any plot that I've missed in order to clear up the details."

"Alright."

"From what I can discern, somehow you managed to not only figure out that the Sorcerer's Stone was in Hogwarts, but that it was going to be stolen. You owled me—I'll now assume that this was after Professor McGonagall told you the Stone was safe?"  
"Mhmm."

"Alright then. A very determined bird, that owl of yours is by the way. She managed to get through hundreds of ministry wards that are updated daily to stop the very thing from happening before she found me. Pecked the minister's assistant quite hard, too, when the woman tried to stop her. And very nice job on the letter—an impressive vocabulary. So anyway, you owled me, yet when I didn't return by nightfall, you decided that you had to protect the Stone yourself."

"Of all the asinine, deranged, harebrained schemes in the world..." Professor Snape muttered, in a tone normally associated with cursing.

"_Severus_," Dumbledore sent a slight frown in his direction, before turning back to Harry, "Though I must question, my dear boy, why you decided to not inform anyone else of the development. Especially your own Head of House?"

"Thought he was after it," Harry murmured, internally cringing in wait of the inevitable explosion. Given the information he'd had, Professor Snape _was_ a liable suspicion—even now, after the fiasco, he could find no fault in his reasoning leading to the conclusion of who was after the Stone—but somehow, he doubted that the two adults would see things quite the same way. He was not disappointed.

"What?" both the Headmaster and his Head of House demanded in disbelief. "Harry, my boy," Dumbledore continued, while Professor Snape merely stared at him, "How on _Earth_ did you reach that conclusion?"

"S'logical," Harry protested, his words slurring a bit with exhaustion, "Heard him talking about it with—" yawn "—Quirrell and saw him going to the third corridor on Halloween. Even got bit by the Cerberus. So it was either him or Quirrell."

"Professor Quirrell, Harry," the Headmaster gently corrected.

"Not a professor anymore—he's dead, isn't he?" Harry replied, not really paying attention to his words. Dumbledore and Professor Snape exchanged a slight glance. _Weren't planning on telling me that little detail, were you?_ Harry thought with faint annoyance.

_**He **_**is**_** dead, isn't he?**_ he asked Hogwarts.

_*__**Very**__*_ the castle reassured him.

"Continuing on," the Headmaster said with a sigh a moment later, apparently deciding to let the issue rest for now, "You somehow managed to calm the Cerberus—"

"Fluffy," Harry interjected, more to see their reactions than to provide information.

"_Fluffy_?" his Head of House chocked, sounding a bit like Sebastian, "The oaf named that monstrous fiend _Fluffy_?"

The Headmaster blinked and stared, before shaking his head lightly in disbelief.

"Anyway, you managed to calm the Cerberus with Christmas music, burn the Devil's Snare, catch the key—"  
"Fun," Harry murmured with a faint smile twitching at his lips before he could stop it. The two adults noticed.

"Hmm, I suppose that would have been your first time on a broom, wouldn't it have? Madam Hooch informed me of that disastrous flying lesson—Severus, you should consider convincing Harry to try out for Quidditch next year. That must have been some _very_ impressive flying.

"So you dealt with the first three traps in the conventional way…after that, though, things get a little confusing. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem to have started an all out _war_ between the chess pieces, somehow including the troll in the midst of the matter."

"He did _what_?" Professor Snape demanded.

"Yes, I must say, I was quite startled when I walked—well, ran really—in on the chaos. It took an ungodly amount of immobilizing charms _and_ disposing of the troll before any sort of peace could be ascribed to the room. Apparently, the black chessmen were—under the orders of their queen, who was under orders from Harry—set on decimating the white chessmen, who protested self defense as a motive to continue fighting."

The potions master stared at Harry for a long moment, his mouth open slightly (though not enough to be considered gaping).

"How on _Earth…_" he started, before biting off the phrase and shaking his head sharply, "Never mind, I don't want to know."

"So that dealt with _those_ two rooms," Dumbledore continued, "And you apparently solved Professor Snape's riddle, an impressive feat."

"It was brilliant. I love logic puzzles," Harry mumbled, before mentally berating himself for letting out information without provocation.

His Head of House blinked at him—probably due to the unintended compliment.

"After you entered the final chamber, though, I have no idea of what happened until I arrived to pull you off of Quirrell. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'll have to ask you for an account of the events, my boy."

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, having no desire whatsoever to recall what happened. Actually, he was still rather fuzzy on the later events of that room, but he might as well provide the Headmaster with a brief description up until the point where he fell unconscious. A highly edited, brief description.

"Quirrell captured me when I entered the room, dragged me in front of the mirror, I got the Stone somehow, tried to hide it, but Voldemort read my mind or something and—"

"_What?_" Dumbledore gasped in shock, while Professor Snape flinched at You-Know-Who's name. _Odd, he's about the last person I would have picked to display_ that_ reaction—I have to look further into this._

"Voldemort was on the back of Quirrell's head, under his turban," Harry explained to the horrified adults, "Anyway, so Voldemort told Quirrell to attack me; only, when Quirrell grabbed me, my scar split open and his skin burned. So I hung onto him to keep him in enough pain so he couldn't kill me. Then I passed out."

A long moment of silence followed this narrative, which the Headmaster broke with a sigh.

"That was very, _very_ brave of you, my boy. Unfortunately, with Voldemort's spirit presumably fled and the Stone missing, I can only assume that—"

"Hogwarts has it," Harry interrupted, mentally kicking himself for forgetting to add that particular detail.

"What?"

"Hogwarts has it. I threw it at the wall—the castle absorbed it."

"Hogwarts _absorbed_ the Sorcerer's Stone?" Professor Snape managed a few seconds later, in an astonished, incredulous tone.

"Mhmm."

The silence that followed this pronouncement lasted for a while longer than the previous, as all seemed to be contemplating the situation. At last, Harry broke in with a question that had been floating around in the back of his mind.

"Sir," he started, addressing the Headmaster.

"Yes, my boy?"

"What will happen to Nicolas and Perenell Flamel now that the Stone is part of Hogwarts?"

"Oh, so you know about Nicolas?" Dumbledore, in contrast to the heavy mood which had previously permeated the room, sounded quite delighted, "You're certainly very thorough in your research. I have absolutely no idea what will happen. It appears as though he and I will have a summer project to work on."

The Headmaster seemed positively enthused with the concept, and Professor Snape let out a soft groan, burying his face in his hands.  
"None of that, Severus," Dumbledore said reproachfully, "I know perfectly well that you make new potions through experimentation all summer—there's no reason I can't have fun discovering something as well."

An image of a red circle with a line through it, surrounding a picture of Hogwarts exploding, hastily appeared in Harry's mind.

"Hogwarts hopes that you don't blow the castle up," Harry informed the Headmaster sleepily. Professor Snape lifted his head from his palms, narrowing his eyes at Harry and scrutinizing him closely; Dumbledore merely laughed.

"How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?" Harry asked a moment later.

"Ahh, now, I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that's saying something." Professor Snape rolled his eyes. The Headmaster dutifully ignored him.

"You see, only one who wanted to _find_ the Stone—find it, but not use it—would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes…"  
"And the rest of us," the potions master muttered sarcastically.

"But I didn't _want_ to find the Stone," Harry protested quietly, "I _wanted_ it to stay in the Mirror so that Quirrell couldn't get it."

"Ahh, well, I never said the idea was foolproof."

They fell back into silence. Dumbledore appeared to be thinking intently about something and Professor Snape was back to observing him as if he could find the answers to life by studying Harry's form.

Harry was just about to drift off into a doze when a soft voice broke through the clouds of sleep.

"_And _then_, I'll inject him with fifty different kindsss of venom and eat him whole, only to resssurrect him again. And _THEN_…_unconsssciousss_ in the hossspital wing for three _daysss_…Sssanta María. I am _never_ leaving him unsssupervisssed _ever _again…"_

The highly annoyed black mamba slithered up the bedpost and settled onto Harry's chest before either Dumbledore or Professor Snape could do anything about it.

"_You!"_ Sebastian hissed at Harry, jabbing the tip of his tail at him for emphasis, _"Are in _big_ trouble!"_

Harry lifted his arm (wincing at the pain it caused) and ran his fingers lightly over Seb's head to sooth him down. The last thing he needed was a furious snake on his hands when he tried to explain the situation to the Headmaster and his Head of House.

"Harry, my boy…" Dumbledore trailed off in a slightly strangled tone of voice. He glanced over at them. The Headmaster was staring at him in shock and Professor Snape was openly gaping—though his mouth closed with a click upon seeing Harry's observation. Both had their wands out and pointed at the snake.

"_Do you underssstand? BIG trouble!"_ His friend was getting more annoyed by the second. _"And when I'm through with you…Amigo, _sssay_ sssomething! Whatever happened wasssn't that bad, wasss it? Amigo?"_ And now he sounded worried.

Harry sighed. Why did all these situations happen to him? Well, it appeared as though he'd have to break a survival rule, simply to assure that Sebastian wouldn't get frantic and perhaps attack his Professor and Headmaster. _That_ would be _bad_. He could only hope that the fallout of this particular action wouldn't be too awful.

"_I'm fine Ssseb,"_ he hissed quietly to his friend, very much aware of the Headmaster's chocked gasp and his Head of House's rigid, shocked, horrified countenance, _"Jussst a bit sssore. Nothing to worry about…how did you know I wasss awake?"_

"_Hogwartsss had one of the portraitsss tell me, sssince it couldn't do ssso directly." _

"_Ahh…" __**Thanks Hogwarts,**_ Harry sent to the castle.

_*__**Welcome**__*_

"Harry—" he looked over to the Headmaster again, internally wincing when he noticed that his Head of House's expression hadn't changed at all. It was then he realized that their wands were still pointed at Sebastian.

He jerked upward (body screaming in protest), curling his torso and wrapping his arms protectively about the snake, so that Seb was cocooned safely next to his chest. Sebastian might have managed to get all the way to the hospital wing from the dungeons, but he was still weak from his injuries.

"Don't hurt him!" Harry hissed protectively, the words barely making it out in English, "He's…my friend," he added quietly a moment later, when it appeared as though the Headmaster needed further reasoning.

They studied him and the snake for a long, long moment. Eventually, Dumbledore sighed and tucked his wand away.

"He's been with you since the start of the year?" he asked tiredly. Harry nodded, a bit wary. "Where did you get him?"  
"Diagon Ally—he used to be in a muggle zoo in Surry, but he escaped when I accidentally released him on my cousin."

At this, Professor Snape seemed to snap out of his stupor and his eyebrows rose.

"You convinced a _snake_ to attack your cousin?"

"_Accidentally,_" Harry emphasized, slowly uncurling and sinking back down into the blankets, ignoring Seb's hiss of _"And I thoroughly enjoyed the experience."_

The Headmaster hummed softly as he regarded the situation.

"Well," he said at last, "As long as he doesn't attack any of the students and you keep him hidden, I suppose I really can't protest. Hmm…I guess this clears up the mysterious death of the troll on Halloween. Minerva will be pleased." He rose. "If that is all, then I really must be going—I have a school to run, and all. Do take care, my dear boy, and Severus, I'd like to talk to you in my office after the feast tonight." He headed towards the door, only to pause on the threshold and turn back.

"One more question, my boy, if you don't mind," he addressed Harry, "How did you know how to get past the Cerberus?"

"Hmm? Oh, I thought the whole situation with Hagrid and Norbert was fishy, so I went down and asked him about the stranger he got the egg from. He retold the whole evening to me, including the part where he told the stranger how to put Fluffy to sleep—so therefore, I knew and so did someone else…who turned out to be Quirrell."

"_What_ egg?" demanded Professor Snape, in a tone of slight horror, "And _who_, precisely, is Norbert?"

"Norbert's the Norwegian Ridgeback that Hagrid hatched from an egg in April. Granger and I got stuck in detention because we got caught after giving him to the dragon handlers who Charlie Weasley sent from Romania to pick him up."

Silence, then "There really_ was_ a dragon?" Professor Snape hissed in shock, sounding like he was torn between banging his head against the wall and straggling Harry.

"My, my," Dumbledore chuckled, apparently highly amused, "You students are getting more creative every year. A dragon! I certainly didn't know about _that_."

Still chuckling, Dumbledore left.

Professor Snape turned back to Harry, fixing him with a piercing gaze which seemed to bore into his mind. Harry quickly looked away, glancing down at Sebastian who—for all intents and purposes—appeared to be taking a nap, draped over him.

"Mr. Potter," the potions master murmured after a long moment. Harry reluctantly looked up. "How did you know that Quirrell was dead?"

Harry froze. This, _this_ was why he so respected and—it had to be admitted—feared the professor. The man noticed _everything_…especially that little slip of tongue which Harry had been hoping with all his might would be ignored.

"I—um…"

"And don't even _think_ about lying to me. I spent the last three days brewing potions to keep you alive—you owe me this much of an explanation at the _least_."

"I stabbed him with my pocket knife when he tried to strangle me," Harry muttered at last, "It has a three inch blade and I drove the entire thing into the inside of his thigh. With the amount of blood that came spewing out afterward, there's no way it missed the artery."

Silence enveloped them, before Professor Snape sighed.

"So you _did_ intentionally kill him…the Headmaster believed it to be a mere accident."

"He was trying to kill me," Harry defended in a near silent whisper. He turned his face away from his professor, shame, guilt, and self-disgust blazing through his mind. Sure, it had been in self-defense (and he intellectually knew that there was nothing else he could have done), but he'd _killed_ someone…deliberately killed someone. He felt awful, sick, as if this made him just like _them_—Quirrell, Voldemort…_his relatives_—

A long-fingered hand grasped firmly onto his chin, refusing to let go even when he flinched violently. It turned his face back towards its owner, and Harry reluctantly met the professor's dark eyes.

"It is _not_ your fault," the words were spoken slowly, with emphasis, barely above a whisper, but rang with a stern, iron-hard will, "Do you understand? It. Is. _NOT. _Your. Fault."

"But I—" Harry tried to turn away, feeling tears prick his eyes. He would _not_ cry in front of his professor. The hand refused to release him.

"No, Mr. Potter. No buts. It is not your fault. Say it."

"It's not my fault," Harry murmured lamely.

"With _conviction_, child."

"It's—I—" he swallowed harshly. "It's not my fault," he repeated a bit firmer.

"Now work on believing it," Professor Snape released his chin, let out a deep breath, and rose. "Well, Mr. Potter, there are things I need to do that don't involve you or your pet snake, so if you will excuse me…try not to run into any more trouble. I would hate to have to drag your sorry existence back here before the school year is over." He left.

Harry stared after him for a long moment, before shaking his head and settling back down on the pillows for a nap (dutifully covering Sebastian so that Madam Pomfrey wouldn't freak out). That man was a walking contradiction.

He rather thought he liked it.

* * *

"Albus, _what_ happened on Thursday with the castle?" asked Filius upon entering the weekly staff meeting, "And what's this I hear about Mr. Potter being in the hospital wing?"

"He's _what_?" demanded Minerva.

"Yes, Mr. Potter is in the hospital wing—has been for the past three days, in fact," the Headmaster sighed deeply, worry momentarily clouding his features.

"For what? Is he going to be all right? And is that why Poppy's not here?" Pomona exclaimed in concern.

"He's fine now," the Headmaster didn't comment on the previous days, "He was magically exhausted—_completely _magically exhausted—and had a few serious injuries."

"Doesn't magical exhaustion _kill_ young people?"

"How did he get injured?"

"Is that where you've been for the past few days?"

"What happened with the castle?"

The door opened, cutting off the barrage of questions. Severus entered the room and sank into his chair, closing his eyes briefly before steepling his hands in front of his face.

"Is he—" Dumbledore started, breaking the silence.

"A bit distraught, but nothing that can't be ratified," Severus replied with a sigh, "He did it—_intentionally_, Headmaster, that's bound to leave some mark of sorts."

"_He_…dear Merlin."

"What on _Earth_ is going on?" Sydney implored, on the behalf of the staff who had _no_ idea of what they were talking about. The Headmaster and Potions Professor exchanged telling glances.

"Last Thursday," Dumbledore began, "Quirinus, possessed by Voldemort—" everyone flinched, and there were gasps of horror and shock, "Attempted to bypass the protections and steal the Sorcerer's Stone. Fortunately, for all of our sakes, a certain student realized what was going on—and how he did that, I'm _still_ not clear on—and also bypassed the protection in order to reach the Stone before Quirinus did."

"A _student_ got through the protections?" Filius appeared as if he was torn between awed and horror.

"Quirinus was possessed by You-Know-Who? For how long?"

"This certain student wouldn't happen to be Mr. Potter, would it?" Leonardo murmured, eyes narrowing in calculation.

"Dear Merlin…and I turned the child away!" Minerva whispered to herself, sickened.

"Yes, the student _was_ Mr. Potter," sighed Dumbledore quietly. There was a moment of silence as they all digested the statement, then:

"Wait, so a _first year_ managed to get past enchantments intended to keep full grown wizards out? _How?_"

"The 'whys' and 'whereabouts' of what happened will remain closed for the sake of Mr. Potter's privacy," the Headmaster said firmly, "However, through a series of remarkable events, Mr. Potter successfully prevented Quirinus from obtaining the Stone by allowing Hogwarts to absorb it."  
Silence.

"I'm sorry, Albus, I must not have heard that right," Astoria shook her head lightly, "I could have sworn you said Hogwarts _absorbed _the Sorcerer's Stone."

"Hogwarts did _what?_"

"Is that even possible?"

The roaring of the Floo Network cut off the disbelieving exclamation of the staff.

"Severus!" Poppy shouted through the emerald flames, "I need you and your potion abilities in the hospital wing _now_. You won't _believe_ what this group of fifth years managed to hex themselves into—"

Snarling in annoyance, the potions master rose, nodded to Dumbledore, and vanished through the flames to the infirmary.

"Headmaster!" Poppy called back through a moment later, "We're probably going to need your help as well!"

Albus rose with a sigh—after all, he'd _just_ gotten out of the hospital wing, "Do take care," he told the still bewildered, disbelieving staff, "Oh, and Minerva," he paused upon exiting the room, "The next time you decide transfigure a giant chess set, make sure to include a spell to make the chessmen play only the _conventional_ game. I don't want to have to clean up another chess piece war again. Not to mention the mess the troll made," he grumbled under his breath, vanishing through the fire.

"Potter did _what_?" Minerva's incredulous tone echoed out of the room and down the hall.

* * *

Harry woke up a few hours later to find Madam Pomfrey standing over him, her wand twirling in brisk movements as she ran diagnosis tests.

"You're doing much better, Mr. Potter," she said kindly upon noticing his state of consciousness, "The Headmaster wishes for me to inform you that you may attend the End-of-Year feast tonight," she added with a faint note of disapproval in her voice—clearly, she disliked the idea.

"Thanks," Harry rasped to her, receiving a glass of water a moment later for his efforts.

"Now, I'd like you to take this potion," she handed him a vial, "And this one, then get some more rest. But first, you have another visitor."

"Who is it?" But Madam Pomfrey had already left the room. Harry mentally ran through the list of people who would actually come to see him if he was injured. _Hmm, let's see…Seb's already here, Hogwarts is around all the time, I doubt that Madam Pomfrey would let Hedwig into the hospital wing, which leaves…_

Hagrid sidled quietly through the door. As usual when he was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Harry, took one look at him, and burst into tears. Harry blinked in momentary shock as he was _not _expecting this reaction. _I don't look _that _bad, do I? _He felt Sebastian wind uncertainly about his torso under his pajamas.

"It's—all—my—ruddy—fault!" Hagrid sobbed, his face in his hands. _Clearly, Dumbledore had a word with him about the events. _ "I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn' know an' I told him! Yeh could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a Muggle!"

Harry rather thought this was a bit overdramatic. The Headmaster didn't seemed to believe that Hagrid had acted maliciously—even Professor Snape was more resigned (as if it were inevitable) than horrified. Besides, Harry couldn't see Hagrid living as a muggle. He just couldn't.

"Hagrid," Harry murmured, in an attempt to comfort, "Hagrid, this is Voldemort we're talking about. Do you really think that you're solely responsible for his near success? If he couldn't find a way to get past Fluffy, he'd have just killed the Cerberus. Three-headed guard dog or not, it wouldn't have slowed him down _that_ much."

"Yeh could've died!" wailed Hagrid, as if completely oblivious to the mini speech which Harry had just made, "An' don' say the name!"

Harry sighed. As shown in his previous experiences with Hagrid, he simply couldn't do 'comforting'. So it was time to cheat again.

A few very strong calming spells later—having covers to hid a wand under made being discreet a whole hell of a lot easier (though he doubted Hagrid would have noticed anyway)—and the groundskeeper was once more in reasonable shape.

Sebastian was snickering, but Harry chose to ignore him.

"Hagrid," Harry said, once he was sure the man wasn't going to start off on another round of sobbing, "Really, it isn't your fault," _Hmm, and now I sound like Professor Snape_, "I don't blame you at all. Besides, watching a dragon hatch more than made up for the experience." And _boy_ did it. He was sure that the detailed notes he took could be sold for a fortune when he was a bit older. And _nothing_ beat watching it first hand.

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "Thanks Harry…That reminds me. I've got yeh a present."

Harry gaped at him in momentary shock.

"You've what?" he managed weakly, "Why?" It wasn't like it was a holiday or anything.

"I've got yeh a present," Hagrid repeated with a watery chuckle, ignoring the second question, "Dumbledore gave me the day off ter finish it. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead—anyway, got yeh this..."

He pulled a package—wrapped in brown paper—out of a pocket in his enormous coat and handed it over.

Harry carefully unwrapped the present. It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Blinking at it curiously, Harry opened to the first page.

He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. Breathing was impossible and he was sure he was going to faint. Smiling and waving up at him from the wizarding photograph were his parents.

_I can see them again…I can see them again_, was the only thought that ran through his mind.

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos...Knew yeh didn' have any...D'yeh like it?"

Harry couldn't speak, only nod very weakly, but Hagrid seemed to understand. He barely noticed when Hagrid left, slowly paging through the book, staring intently at every single picture, attempting to memorize them.

"Harry, dear, I need you to drink this," he glanced up a while later to see Madam Pomfrey's understanding face peering down at him, her extended arm holding a potion vial out to him. Her voice indicated that this wasn't the first time she'd attempted to get his attention, but she didn't sound annoyed. "It's a mild dose of Dreamless Sleep—it will knock you out for a few hours so you'll be refreshed in time for the feast," she added as he downed the potion, already turning back to the pictures in the book.

He felt his eyes drooping and tried valiantly to stay awake—as if he took his eyes off the photo album for a second it would all fade to reveal that it was nothing more than a bizarre, wonderful dream. The healer's hands helped him lie down, pulling the blankets up to his shoulders, and she took the album gently from his relaxing grip.

"Here dear," she murmured softly, slipping the book under a corner of his pillow and resting one of his hands on it, "This way, it'll be near you."

Harry graced her with a faint smile and fell asleep.

:~:

Later that evening, Madam Pomfrey eventually released him to attend the End-of-Year feast, with a stern lecture to return should he feel unwell. Harry thanked her politely and hurried away, slipping into an alcove hidden behind a tapestry at the first available opportunity. Sebastian was wrapped around his shoulders and his photo album was clutched tightly to his chest with one hand (he doubted he would be able to let it go any time soon).

Although it was kind of the Headmaster to allow him to go, Harry had no intention of actually attending the End-of-Year feast. He couldn't stand crowds on a normal basis, and with the hyper-active excitement bound to be loose in the Great Hall—especially with the Slytherins, considering they had won the House Cup—no, it was much better to simply avoid the situation.

And Hogwarts had assured him that everyone would be at the feast. _Everyone_. All the staff, Filtch, Hagrid, _every_ student, most of the ghosts (the house elves would, naturally, remain in the kitchens)…everyone would be in that one, big room.

Which, conveniently, left the rest of the castle _completely_ open to him.

Hogwarts was _never _emptier than on the Start-of-Year and the End-of-Year feasts—as everyone was expected to be present. Harry knew that no one would miss him (well, except the Headmaster and his far-too-observant Head of House), and even if they did, he had a perfect excuse: he hadn't felt well enough. Yes, this was the opportune time to take advantage of the scenario and finally get around to accepting an offer.

With quiet, quick steps (relishing in the ability to simply walk in the halls and not have to creep around in secret passages), Harry made his way up to the Headmaster's office.

"Hello Gargoyle," he greeted the stone statue with a polite nod. The gargoyle remained rigid for a second, then blinked, shook itself, and turned its stone eyes to the first year.

"_Merlin_, you again!" it rasped in its gravely voice, "Wasn't expecting to see _you_. Aren't you supposed to be in the hospital wing?"

"I got let out for the feast," Harry replied quietly.

"I've heard _that_ excuse befo—oh, he really did, did he? Thanks for informing me _now,_ you stupid castle. Sorry kid. Quite a show in the Gauntlet, by the way…told you not to let those idiots get down on you."

"Thank you for your advice," Harry suddenly realized he had not done this yet, "It was particularly helpful."

"But not quite fast enough," the stone statue sighed heavily, "Still wound up in the hospital wing for days. Oh well, you can't have everything. Now, was there anything in particular you wanted, or did you just come for a chat? Not bad timing, with everyone in the Great Hall and all."

"Actually," Harry murmured cautiously, not exactly sure how his request would be taken, "I'd like to speak with the Sorting Hat."

"So you've finally decided to take the old feather duster up on his offer, eh? Was wondering when you'd do that—had a bet going and everything. Of course, you _were_ rather occupied with other things during the year. Yeah, I'll let you in, no need to worry about that. Though, if you ever _do_ have to get in the conventional way, remember: just keep guessing sweets. Especially muggle ones. _Damn sugar-obsessed headmasters,_" this last bit was grumbled under its breath.

"Thank you," Harry said politely, as the Gargoyle jumped aside, "I'd love to stop by and chat some time."

"You do that, kid," the Gargoyle shouted after him as he climbed the spiral staircase.

The Headmaster's office seemed oddly empty without Dumbledore present, and Harry paused momentarily upon entering. Various portraits on the walls observed him with boredom—those that weren't asleep, that is. The Headmaster's phoenix regarded him curiously from his perch, tilting his head to the side as if in contemplation. Harry crossed the room to the bird.

"'Lo Fawkes," he murmured softly, petting the phoenix's burning crest. The bird cooed under his touch, letting out a warbling trill that filled the room with music.

"He likes you," commented a voice from the shelf, making Harry jump, jerk around, and pull out his wand, "Now, now, no need to get paranoid, it's only me," the Sorting Hat continued, "Anyway, Fawkes is a friendly bird, but he _really_ likes you. Now take me down and put me on, or were you just planning on standing there gaping at me for the remainder of your visit?"

Swallowing, Harry followed the Hat's orders, then settled into an out-of-the-way arm chair in the corner of the room. He felt a light weight rest on his knee (the Hat had slipped down to his chin, so he couldn't see), and a moment later, the phoenix began to rub his head against Harry's hand, encouraging him to continue petting. He felt Sebastian slither down his arm and into his lap, presumably to communicate with the bird.

'Well, well, well, you certainly have been getting into mischief since I last talked to you. Trolls, talking to the castle, a Cerberus named Fluffy (_Merlin, _that man's naming ability really hasn't improved), hatching dragons, chasing magic stones, detentions in the Forbidden Forest…not to mention the whole Gauntlet ordeal…'

_It's not like I _deliberately_ do anything—it just sort of happens to me._

'Yes, I can see that…and I believe that the Troll, the detention, and the Gauntlet all prove what I said about you at the start of the year.'

_Oh?_

'Mhmm…you _do to_ have a saving people complex.'

_NO, I don't._

'Oh really? Care to explain your reason for saving Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy, and then the _entire_ wizarding world? And besides, you can't argue with me on this. You already admitted to yourself in the Forest that you had one.'

_Damn mind-reading hats…_

'Now, now, none of that. So, Mr. Potter, what is it that convinced you to finally come and speak with me? Perhaps the death of a certain someone in the Gauntlet?'

_Umm…not really. I don't want to talk about it._

'Ahh, but you need to. Professor Snape was completely correct in this instance: it's not your fault.'

_But he was being possessed by Voldemort! There had to be some other option than _killing_ him that I could have come up with!_

There was a momentary pause, then:

'Harry, you acted with the sole purpose of defending yourself. Voldemort, Quirrell, and your relatives _enjoy_ hurting people—you do not. You are _not_ like them at all.'

_ Everyone hates me, though._

'Honestly, look into your own mind! Everyone does _not_ hate you! The Headmaster likes you; Hagrid adores you; the castle, your snake, Fawkes—hell, you even managed to make that stone cretin outside like you. And your classmates are ignorant idiots too caught up in their own lives.'

_Did you just insult the students?_

'Perhaps…don't tell anyone. Point is, it's not your fault, you're not despicable, etc. And yes, I sorted you into the right house, so quit doubting that. I wasn't sure at first, but in Slytherin you flourished, despite the lack of help you received from your housemates.'

_ Thanks_.

'Oh, and one more thing before we go to discussing the Founders and that very interesting book you managed to get out of the library—you've seen death. Now, I'm not sure if this would have happened had you _not_ killed Quirrell (after all, you saw your mother's death), but the so called 'horseless carriages' of Hogwarts aren't actually 'horseless'. They're pulled by thestrals…which you can only see after witnessing death. Just thought I'd warn you. Try not to be too shocked or anything.'

_Umm…alright._

'Now, on to the Founders…any particular questions?'

_Yes, actually. How did the school motto come about?_

'Never tickle a sleeping dragon? Ahh, now _that's_ a story and a half. You see, one day Godric Gryffindor decided to go off looking for dragons in the nearby countryside…and it was pure chance that Salazar Slytherin happened to be around _and_ had enough common sense to take off after him in an attempt to halt the oncoming catastrophe. Not that he had much luck—it was inevitable that the beast would wake up just as Godric decided to test the sensitivity of the dragon's tail…'

* * *

Upon entering his office several hours later, the Headmaster was astonished to find a first year Slytherin perched on a chair with the Sorting Hat engulfing his head, Fawkes on his knees, and a black mamba curled up in his lap.

The boy appeared to be snickering lightly, and vague mutters of "You can't be serious," and "All _four_ of them?" and "They wrote the school song when they were _drunk_?" and "_Who_ used it for blackmail?" could be heard intermittent with laughter.

The potions master, entering the office after Dumbledore, observed the situation and sighed.

"Headmaster," he began in an odd tone of voice, "That child is—" he shook his head, unable to find the correct descriptive word.

"I know," Dumbledore murmured in complete agreement. Really, Harry was indescribable, "I believe it's why Hogwarts likes him so much…they're very similar in that way."

"So he's completely serious about being able to communicate with an apparently entirely sentient castle?"

"Oh, quite. Probably why he's so very good at sneaking around. Still," Albus smiled slightly, watching as the boy's shoulders shook with unquenchable mirth, "After all the trouble he's been through this year, it's nice to hear him laugh."

* * *

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come—not, of course, that he was worried about them…his mind had just been occupied with other things. He'd done fairly well on them: not perfect (like Granger, he suspected), but decently enough, keeping in consistency with his homework scores. Could he have done a lot better? Possibly, though again, he _had_ been weighted down with other things to think about. His exam results fitted the persona he'd created, and that was all he cared about.

And suddenly, the wardrobes were empty, trunks were packed, pets were found lurking in the oddest places; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays (_Damn, _thought Harry, _There goes my opportunity to hex my relatives_).

The morning to leave the castle finally arrived. Students babbled back and forth with unending enthusiasm, loudly exclaiming what they were going to do over the summer, exchanging addresses, and wrecking a great deal of havoc on the castle in general. Harry was not amused at all, and slunk through the dungeons in an effort to avoid the chaos.

An hour or so later, he resumed his assent to the higher reaches (well, ground floor) of the castle—knowing that if he delayed any longer he might miss the carriages back to the train.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder—not letting go despite his flinch—and wheeled him around back the way he'd come.

"Not quite yet, Mr. Potter," his Head of House sneered softly from behind him, "There are a few things I still need to…_discuss_…with you." Harry's breath hitched in slight fear—despite the fact that he knew Professor Snape would _probably_ not hurt him.

_What on _Earth_ could he possibly want to talk about _now_,_ he wondered in disbelief as he was marched back to the Professor's office, _I haven't _done_ anything recently…I though we cleared up the Quirrell issue…_

He was shoved harshly inside, the door slamming shut behind the professor. Harry wheeled around, a demand for an explanation on his lips despite his slight fear of the situation, only to freeze in shock.

His Head of House had his wand out and pointed unerringly at him.

_What the hell…_Harry thought desperately, bewildered, uncomprehending.

"Hold still," Professor Snape murmured—almost cruelly—his face completely blank.

"_Sssebassst—!" _ Harry began to hiss, his voice frantic.

A barrage of spells slammed into his chest, forcing the breath out of his lungs and causing his to stagger back a pace. Tingles ran up and down his arms, shivers shook his body, magic raced through his veins—though for what purpose, Harry could not fathom.

He found himself unable to move, unable to speak, barely able to breathe—only capable of watching the spells hit him, one after another. By the fact that Sebastian had yet to react, Harry assumed his snake was in a similar situation.

Finally, the endless onslaught of magic halted. Harry recoiled backward, curling in a hunched over position, staring up at his professor.

"Wha—" he chocked out, too shocked to think properly.

"Security spells," his Head of House responded without missing a beat, already turning away in search of something else, "Contacting spells, a few advanced-time-delayed healing spells, etcetera. Now, I need you to drink this, this, and this." He turned around from his rummaging though a cabinet on the wall with three potion vials in his hands, placing them firmly on the desk before his startled, speechless student.

Harry, for his part, gave his professor a disbelieving look. The potions master sighed.

"Mr. Potter, if I had wanted to kill or permanently incapacitate you, I'd have found a much more subtle technique that could not have been traced back to me. Now drink these."

As this somewhat dubious logic fit perfectly with the image of a Slytherin, Harry decided that the vials probably didn't contain a poison and subsequently downed their contents. Sebastian was still hissing death threats under his breath, but seeing how the snake had yet to act on any of these, Harry figured that it was more an expression of frustration than of actual intent.

Professor Snape sank into the chair behind his desk, observing Harry with dark, piercing eyes. Harry gazed back at him warily. Yes, the spells and potions hadn't killed him (_yet_), but he had no idea what the man's purpose or reasoning was, and that left him far too much in the dark for his own comfort.

"I suppose you are wondering just what I did to you?" the potions master murmured in a soft, knowing tone which reminded Harry instantly that he could read minds. _Damn, can't believe I forgot about that one._

At Harry's hesitant nod, the professor continued, "To be perfectly blunt, Mr. Potter, your home life is less than ideal. No, don't even try to deny it—I've seen enough children pass through this school with similar problems, I know the signs. Be assured that we will discuss it in great depth over the following years and no, there is nothing you can do to get out of it.

"The spells I put on you are a combination of tracking, health-monitoring, and communication charms. Should you desperately need to be removed from your home, you will be capable of sending me a mental message alerting me to the problem. In the instance that you are incapable of such an effort, or should you decide to not take any action, the health monitor will alert me once your physical health has dropped below a certain point. The tracking charm enables me to find you, bypassing all wards as I will be able to apparate to you despite not knowing the location.

"You will take advantage of this system, Mr. Potter," he added in a soft, deadly tone, "Should you find yourself in need of it." There was no room left to question.

They stared at one another for a long moment.

"_Why_?" Harry asked finally, still trying to understand what his Head of House—in his own snarky, irritated way—had done for him. The potions master's mouth twitched slightly, as if he was suppressing a bitter smirk.

"Mr. Potter, you are in my House and are my responsibility. It is therefore up to _me_ to ensure that you do not get yourself killed over the summer simply because you are too proud to speak up for yourself. I've done my part, now it's up to you."

"Sir—" Harry began, struggling to find words to fit the emotions tumbling though his mind (and not all of them were complementary).

"I've given you a valuable resource, Mr. Potter," his Head of House cut off his words, rising and ushering him out the door before he had a chance to protest, "I shall be very annoyed if you refrain from using it if it is necessary. Now, I believe the carriages are leaving for the train in a minute's time—you had better hurry if you don't want to miss it. _I_ certainly won't be escorting you to your house should that be the case."

The door closed firmly in Harry's still disbelieving, gaping face.

_The sheer _nerve _of that man! He is so—ughhh!_

Harry raced through the corridors, frantically trying to get out of the school before the carriages left; he was oblivious to the soft snicker of wry amusement that followed him out of the potions master's office.

Harry managed to slip into the last carriage just as it began to depart. Upon its arrival at the Hogwarts Express, Harry noted that the Sorting Hat was correct. The carriages were not 'horseless', so to speak, but pulled by large, winged horses, if one could call them that.

The beasts were pitch black, skeletal, with bat-like wings extruding from their shoulders and large, pure white, glittering eyes. They were down right creepy and a bit spooky…and Harry had to believe that he was the only one capable of seeing them, for the other students would _not_ have acted so calmly or casually when passing the horses.

He rather thought he liked them, and resolved to ask Hagrid the following year about their species (and to see if the groundskeeper could perhaps introduce him to some).

The train ride home was very boring as Harry—in the turmoil that the 'meeting' with Professor Snape had left him—had forgotten to pack a book. He eventually settled for putting up a silencing ward on his compartment and spent the entire time conversing with Sebastian (he'd left Hedwig at Hogwarts for the summer as he was _sure_ his relatives would react negatively to her presence and probably try to kill her).

Eventually, the train pulled into the station, and Harry reluctantly canceled his wards and prepared to deal with his relatives. It took a while to get off the platform, mainly for security reasons. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles. Which Harry though would be rather entertaining, but even he could see the logic of this solution.

At last, he stood in an out-of-the-way part of King's Cross Station, luggage safely shrunk and stored in pocket, wand in hand. He brought his wand down in a sweeping arc, summoning the Knight Bus and his ride home.

A half hour (and eleven Sickles) later, he descended from the Bus, calling a soft goodbye and thanks. He watched as the Bus bounced out of sight, dancing all over the street and miraculously not damaging anything (though Harry was sure that this was due to some form of magic and not the driver's capabilities).

With a deep sigh, he turned back to his relatives' house and bid a silent farewell to magic—at least for the summer.

_Or maybe not,_ he thought to himself, as he was greeted at the door by the indignant shrieking of his aunt, _After all, I know that wordless, wandless magic exists. What better time to practice it than when I'm unable to use a wand?_

Maybe this summer wouldn't be so bad after all.

**Finite Incantatem**

**

* * *

**

Sad, sad day that a story ends. But hey! Now I can start a new one!

Notes:

Snape's riddle…I did actually solve it out—well, as much as it can be solved without a picture to show us what the sizes of the bottles are. Some of the logical reasoning, though, is from the Harry Potter Lexicon's article The Riddle of the Potions, which does a spectacular job of walking through all the possible outcomes.

On that note, a lot of my information comes from the Harry Potter Lexicon, if I haven't stated otherwise.

The stone gargoyle—I actually didn't intend for him to have a part. But, I just re-read Patricia Wrede's "Enchanted Forest Chronicles" and the stone gargoyle in Hogwarts reminded me of the wooden one in Mendanbar's Study. Hence, a talking gargoyle sharing some similar characteristics with his wooden counterpart.

As you've probably realized by this point—Dumbledore had absolutely _no_ intention of having Harry go after the Stone. Even in the books, Harry mentioned that he though Dumbledore let him figure out the problem and then go after it—so this part of my story isn't canon. _In this instance_, the Stone was there for protection. My version of Dumbledore is that of an old, somewhat senile man who is, in fact, quite good at running his school. He didn't want _any_ harm to happen to Harry, and was thus duly horrified at the incident in the Gauntlet. I like stories with manipulative headmasters, but in this case, my Dumbledore wasn't one of them.

As for Snape…he knows that Harry's home life is less than ideal, but he can't prove it (and therefore can't do anything about it…yet). The spells he used on Harry are part of—what I presume to be—a system he's rigged up over the years to help students who couldn't contact him. So yes, he might be an infuriating, snarky git, but he actually cares about his students being in one piece.

And Sebastian...I couldn't have anyone with Harry when he through the Gauntlet, so he got hurt. It was the only excuse I could think of that would prevent Sebastian from going with him. And one final note on the snake: doing a bit more research than I did before, I discovered that black mambas were not, as I previously believe, small. In fact, they're the second largest poisonous snake in the world. Hmm...that little detail has probably caused a few conflicts in previous chapters. I'm not going to go back and change it, so if it really does give you a problem, just believe in magic making things work out all right.

That's all for now folks.

Riddle


End file.
